THE GOLD MINE--THE INNOCENCE OF SONORA--SUNDAY IN SONORA--SELLING A
HORSE--CARRYING WEAPONS--BOB--WE LEAVE VALLEJO--WE ARE “BOUND TO
GO”--THE SHADOW OF A CROW.
_September 1851._
Early the next morning I proceeded on horseback with Joe Bellow and an
engineer to the mine, which was situated near a mining village called
Tuttle-Town. To reach this spot we had to cross a table mountain, so
covered with the débris of former volcanic eruptions, that it was a
perfect cinder-heap upon a large scale. The ground reverberated as we
passed over concealed craters, and for two or three miles we were
confined to a foot pace, as we picked our way through the rough boulders
that lay half buried in the earth, like a field of winter turnips.
The Tuttletonians were not actively employed at the time of our arrival,
principally from the fact that the diggings had “given out.”
The quartz vein, however, was there, and after a day’s inspection, I was
satisfied that in external appearance at least it bore out the report
that Joe Bellow had given of it. To the man who wants more money than he
has (and few of us are free from that craving), the sight of massive
veins of rock, peppered with specks of gold, is a trying spectacle.
As he sits upon a boulder on the outcrop, and extracts a piece of pure
metal with the point of a knife, he is subject to a thrill which I am
afraid is indicative of the sordid ideas of his nature;--when he
descends the shaft, and by the aid of a candle still beholds the specks
of gold, he draws a long breath, in mental contemplation of the wondrous
wealth before him; then when the wealthy seam is placed at his service,
on terms so easy that it appears quite thrown away, in all probability
he will do as I did, swallow the bait, hook and all. The opinion of the
engineer was highly satisfactory, as engineers’ opinions generally are;
we therefore returned to Sonora, where I plunged at once into the
subject of mining statistics. I remember now how ridiculously plain the
whole matter appeared; here was the gold,--you could see it and feel
it,--well, all you had to do was to get it out! Argument would have been
wasted upon any thick-headed fellow who looked upon the matter
in any other light. But none such existed,--all Sonora was
quartz-mine-mad,--and although no machinery had as yet reached this
region, shafts were being sunk, and adits cut, in every hill around the
town. One mine, which extended from the rear of the principal hotel, was
owned entirely by Cornish miners; these had sunk two deep shafts, and
connected them by a gallery, by which means two or three hundred yards
of the vein were laid bare.
This vein was called the “Englishmen’s mine,” and it had not only the
merit of being sufficiently rich to all appearance to justify the
erection of machinery, but it was about the only lode that had been
scientifically opened by miners, and which was ready without further
expense to supply any amount of ore. But up to the time of my leaving
the country, the owners of this vein, although Englishmen, had not been
able to exert sufficient interest to get it “looked at,” and if this
incident should be read by any victim who has had two and twopence
returned to him in exchange for the sovereign he invested in California
Mining Companies, let him not as he contemplates his “small returns” lay
the blame on the quartz rock of the country, for I assure him that the
cause of failure is much nearer home; but of this I shall speak in its
proper place.
Sonora is dependent for existence on the surrounding mining population;
it is a town with a resident population of about three thousand souls,
but with accommodation on the corral principle for about ten thousand
more. Sonora is advantageously situated in one respect, inasmuch as it
is irresponsible for the morals and conduct of its floating population;
if Sunday is desecrated in Sonora by five thousand pleasure-seeking
miners, Sonora washes its hands of that.
Sonora is one large house of entertainment for bonâ-fide travellers; and
although nearly every one makes a point of travelling thither on a
Saturday, to have a “burst” on Sunday, and return in penitence on
Monday, Sonora washes its hands of that,--otherwise I should say that
Sonora in 1851 was as loose a community as was that of San Francisco in
1849.
No church bells here usher in the Sabbath; but auction bells arouse the
inhabitants equally to a full sense of the duties before them,--the sun
shines for Sonora on this day alone, and in accordance with wise maxims,
the population commences early to make hay.
The miners prefer buying everything at auction, and although I imagine
the purchasers suffer in the long run by this principle, the “loafers”
gain by it; for (supposing you are a loafer) you have only to mix with
the crowd of bidders, and take out your clasp-knife; you can then make
an excellent meal from the samples exposed to view, presuming always
that your constitution will stand a mixture of salt butter, Chinese
sugar, pickles, and bad brandy. Joe Bellow was an auctioneer, and
certainly he understood his business. Long before his sale commenced he
would place a keg of butter, or a bag of dried apples, outside his
store, and the miners would surround these luxuries like flies. Joe
Bellow’s object was to get a “crowd” and this accomplished, the auction
would commence in this style:--
Joe Bellow takes his stand on a cask in the midst of his samples, and
startles you suddenly with “And I’m only bid one dollar for a dozen of
mixed pickles; one dollar, one dollar, one doll--try them, gentlemen.”
In the meantime Joe nods to an imaginary bidder in the distance, and
rattles on, “One and a half, one and a half, one and h--” “Doo,” says a
Dutchman, with his mouth full of pickled gherkin. “Two dollars I’m
offered for a dozen of mixed pickles.” “Dos y medio,” says a Spaniard,
under the influence of a green bean. “Ah! Senor Don Pacheco,” says Joe,
“son los escabéches d’Inghelterra, muy buenos, muy finos!”
“Have I any advance on two dollars and a half?” “Trois piastres,” says a
French restaurateur. “Three dollars I am bid for a dozen of pickles that
cost five dollars in the States, Tenez! Monsieur Leon voici des
cornichons comme il faut. Three dollars, three doll’s, three
doll’s”--“Dree-and-a-half,” says the Dutchman, to whom they are finally
knocked down, just as an old miner observes that “darn him if his knife
aint turned blue with the darned vitrol juice.” No description, however,
can do justice to the rapidity with which Joe Bellow knocks down his
lots, or to the easy impudence with which he meets all disparaging
remarks from his tasters; and such is human nature, that even in the
mines, where few simpletons are to be found, there was no butter so
rancid but Joe Bellow could dispose of it on a Sunday by means of his
volubility and soft-sawder! I heard a Dutchman enquiring very anxiously
one day for some one in Sonora whose name he did not know;--“What is he
like?” said one, but the Dutchman was apparently not apt at description,
and no clue could be gained; at last he spluttered out, “Tyfel! I mean
dat man dat cries always ‘bickel, bickel, bickel,’” and everybody knew
at once that Joe Bellow was the individual required, and directed the
Dutchman accordingly.
The auction extending as it does across the street will be interrupted
most probably by a Mexican funeral procession, headed by a brass band,
playing dolefully; scarcely has this filed by when the same
[Illustration: HORSE MARKET--SONORA.]
band will return to an inspiriting tune, accompanied by merry-andrews
and torredores, who proclaim the day’s amusement in the bull arena. A
man goes rapidly by on a lean horse he is selling at auction; he is bid
twenty dollars for a flea-bitten roan, “Will anybody say twenty-five?”
Half-an-hour elapses, and back he comes, will anybody advance on thirty
dollars?--By-and-by he is seen tearing through the street, scattering
Joe Bellow’s pickle-eaters to the right and left, and sending the mud
flying into the sample keg of butter,--going for forty dollars, going
for--and as he does not appear again upon the scene, it is presumed that
the animal has either been sold, or withdrawn until the ensuing Sunday.
The horses that are sold this way are not very showy, nor do they fetch
much, but it may be remarked that if the high-priced horses that are
occasionally sold with us on account of their owners “going abroad,”
were first subjected to a four hours’ galop, over a stony road, in
presence of the bidders, many of them would be “knocked down” for even
less than are these Californian ponies.
For these animals have at least the advantage of possessing four sound
legs, and unless my experience much misleads me, three are as many as
you can reasonably expect in any animal whose pedigree will admit of a
gentleman mounting him. Civilisation has done for horses, what in some
instances it has for their masters, improved their exteriors at the
expense of a ruined constitution. I wonder what Choctaw would think, if
he could be made to comprehend the fact, that there were horses of twice
his size and strength who couldn’t “feed” without the aid of gentian,
just as their masters take a glass of “vermeuthe” before dinner to
“gammon an appetite.”
In Sonora, every man carried arms, generally a Colt’s revolver, buckled
behind, with no attempt at concealment. In countries where men have no
protection from the law, and the vicious preponderate, this is
necessary. And although it is much to be deplored, that this necessity
did exist, its consequences were less deleterious to society than would
have been expected. For the fear of the law, in the best regulated
community is not so strong as the fear of sudden death; and if quarrels
and assassinations were rare, comparatively, in the mountains, it was
owing to the fact that every man was able to protect himself. It is
generally inferred, as a matter of course, that where all men carry
arms, blood is shed on the first passionate impulse, and life is not
safe. This is not so; it is where all carry arms that quarrels are less
rare, and bullying less known than elsewhere, although the population
may be more vitiated and intemperate than that of other countries.
From the fact of all men being armed, robberies are less frequent in the
mines than would be expected, and in most cases where murders have been
perpetrated, the victims have been unarmed.
There are many countries where the carrying of defensive weapons is
imperative as a preventative against outrage, but to those who from
choice or necessity visit such places, this Californian rule may be of
some value:--
“Never draw your pistol unless you intend to use it.”
Previous to the last San Francisco fire I have recorded, burglaries were
so common, that it became necessary to carry fire-arms after dark, more
particularly as the streets were not lighted. An acquaintance of mine
was walking late one night through a street which was apparently
deserted, and in which one dim light alone shed a sickly ray from over
the door of a closed restaurant. As he reached this spot, a man started
from the obscurity, and requested with the politeness of a Claude Duval
to know the time. With equal civility, my friend presented the dial of
his watch to the light, and allowing the muzzle of his revolver to rest
gracefully upon the turnip, he invited the stranger to inspect for
himself. Slowly the latter advanced, and the sickly ray gleamed likewise
on the barrel of his “six-shooter,” as with some difficulty he satisfied
himself respecting the time.
Both then prepared to depart, and for the first time the light fell on
their faces; then these desperate fellows discovered that they were no
burglars, but old acquaintances, who had dined in company on that very
evening.
But this is not the only part of the world where it is prudent to look
on every man as a rogue until you know him to be honest.
Having completed my mining calculations to my entire satisfaction
(unfortunately), I returned to Vallejo, and on my arrival there
discovered that the order for this young city had been countermanded by
the government. Everybody was preparing for departure, and as the place
owned a justice of the peace, writs were being served in every
direction. My hotel[17] was placed under execution on account of the
two horsetails, before-mentioned; the law was arrayed against me, but as
in Vallejo the law’s authority was represented by one man, and the
individual supposed to be amenable was represented by another, the law
did not always get the best of it, and as far as my own case was
concerned, it consisted in requesting the sheriff to leave the premises,
which he did gladly enough, having business of his own to look after.
Many of those who come overland to California, bring one or two young
blacks from the plantations with them; these of course if not previously
freed, become so on their arrival, but they are in all cases much
attached to their masters, and are very useful servants, so much so,
that they assume great importance and begin to think that nothing can be
done without them. I was amused one day at overhearing one of these
young niggers, who being aroused from his sweet slumber, under a waggon,
by his master’s reiterated cries of “Bob,” drew himself slowly out and
muttered, “Bob here, Bob there, Bob everywhere; b’lieve, by Gad, you
could’t come to California without Bob.” “What’s that you say, sir,”
said his master, who unluckily heard the last part of the speech. There
was no reply, but Bob made for the hills there and then, and his guilty
conscience would not permit him to appear for three days, when he
returned very thin, but set himself to work so assiduously, that it
really did appear as if nothing could be done without him.
I paid a short visit to San Francisco, and returned with such stores as
I thought necessary, and with these, Barnes and Thomas started at once
for Tuttle Town.
Among these stores was a bale of canvas, of which I determined my next
Californian house should be built, and a barrel of gunpowder, with which
I contemplated disturbing the bowels of the earth.
Rowe had decided upon accompanying me, a circumstance which I shall
never regret, for he was in every respect an excellent companion to the
day I parted with him. In mountain life, a friend whose tastes are
congenial to your own is indeed an acquisition; for each happiness is
doubled then, and let misfortune come as it will, its sting is ever
allayed by the sympathy of one true heart beside you.
With the “Old Soldier,” “Choctaw,” “Tiger,” and “Bevis,” we embarked
late one evening on board a Stockton steam-boat; this latter was
naturally a slow boat, but she managed to perform her journey in as
good time as the rest, for her engineer was a famous fellow, who held
life cheap, and maintained as his creed that “she was bound to go
anyhow;” so she went anyhow, trembling fore and aft, with an engine-room
full of steam, and a blaze from her funnel that lit up the banks of the
river on either side. There were few passengers on board, which was
fortunate, as there were few sleeping bunks.
It is not customary to undress when seeking repose in these bunks; in
fact, decency forbids you doing so; for they are openly exposed on
either side of the saloon, and this latter is generally filled up, for
the best part of the night, by card-players.
A placard informs you that “gentlemen are requested not to go to bed in
their boots;” but as the proprietors do not guarantee that your boots
shall not be stolen if you take them off, this request is seldom
complied with. I remember attending a political meeting in a little
church at Benicia; in each pew was a poster, which requested that you
would neither cut the wood-work, nor spit on the floor, but the
authorities had provided no spittoons, so, as a gentleman observed to me
whilst inside the sacred edifice, “what the something was a man to do
who chewed”?
At daylight we were at Stockton, and landing our horses we were soon in
the saddle and making the most of the cooler part of the day. Nothing
worthy of mention occurred on our journey, excepting that at the end of
forty miles our animals were as fresh as when they started. We pulled up
to dine at the Stanislaus, which river we crossed in a ferry. An
acquaintance of mine once crossed at this spot under peculiar
circumstances. He was proceeding from one digging to another, and had
three quarters of a pound of gold dust sown up in his pantaloons; he was
an Englishman, and after the manner of many of his countrymen, he
carried an umbrella, which nothing could induce him to part with.
There was no ferry in those days, and when he arrived at the banks of
the river, he determined to swim across; but then his clothes and the
_umbrella_, how was he to get these across, and how could he go over
without them? He was seized with an idea, and at once acted upon it;
extending his umbrella, he placed his clothes inside, and fastened a
line to the handle; with one end of this in his mouth, he plunged into
the current, and struck out manfully with his boat in tow for the
opposite bank. But the gingham, like most experimental vessels, leaked
so much on her first cruise, that when the centre of the stream was
[Illustration]
reached, nothing could be seen above water but the vessel’s mast head,
which was represented by an ivory hand clasping a round ruler. Now the
order of things became reversed, for the current was strong, and having
taken firm hold of the umbrella, the question was whether to go down the
stream with it or let it go. The latter course was adopted, not on
account of the gold dust or the clothes, but from a pure and unshaken
attachment to the parachute itself. After some effort, not unattended
with danger, “gingham” was safely brought into port, but on beaching it,
the cargo had vanished. Madam, our adventurer had a straw hat on his
head with a very narrow brim, and with this article of attire and his
umbrella, he proceeded for about seven miles without encountering a
soul, when he reached what had been an encampment. The diggers had left,
but there was as much second-hand clothing lying about as would have
furnished a regiment. Selecting the best of this and washing it, my
friend was soon equipped, and went on his way rejoicing; rejoicing for
this reason, that although gold dust and clothes had gone to the bottom,
he had not only saved his precious umbrella, but had newly equipped
himself from a “ready-made clothing mart,” with no bill to pay.
[Illustration]
The road was very dusty and the heat intense, but nothing seemed to tire
our beasts. The last part of our journey consisted of a gradual ascent,
and in many places the ground was covered with small round rocks, that
would materially have impeded the progress of most horses; but Choctaw
allowed no obstacle to arrest his long swinging “lope,” and the Old
Soldier, with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, followed his protégé
unflinchingly. I have sketched these two worthies; the Old Soldier, it
will be perceived (to show that he has still a kick left in him) is
expressing his disgust at the shadow of a crow that is thrown on the
road, whilst Choctaw, still suspicious, plants his Indian legs among the
loose rocks with an accuracy really marvellous. Before night we arrived
at Sonora, having by a circuit that we purposely made, completed a
journey of nearly seventy miles.