future head-quarters of my agency. The distance from Genoa is fifteen
miles, the road winding around the base of the foot-hills most of the
way. I was much impressed with the marked difference between the country
on this side of the Sierra Nevada range and the California side. Here
the mountains were but sparsely timbered; the soil was poor and sandy,
producing little else than stunted sage bushes; and the few scattering
farms had a thriftless and poverty-stricken look, as if the task of
cultivation had proved entirely hopeless, and had long since been given
up. Across the valley toward the Desert, ranges of mountains, almost
destitute of trees, and of most stern and forbidding aspect, stretched
as far as the eye could reach. Carson River, which courses through the
plain, presented the only pleasing feature in the scene.
[Illustration: CARSON CITY.]
I was rather agreeably surprised at the civilized aspect of Carson City.
It is really quite a pretty and thrifty little town. Situated within a
mile of the foot-hills, within reach of the main timber region of the
country, and well watered by streams from the mountains, it is rather
imposing on first acquaintance; but the climate is abominable, and not
to be endured. I know of none so bad except that of Virginia City, which
is infinitely worse. The population was about twelve or fifteen hundred
at the time of my visit. There was great speculation in town lots going
on, a rumor having come from Salt Lake that the seat of government of
Utah was about to be removed to Carson. Hotels and stores were in
progress of erection all about the Plaza, but especially drinking and
gambling saloons, it being an article of faith among the embryo
sovereigns of Utah that no government can be judiciously administered
without plenty of whisky, and superior accommodations for "bucking at
monte." I am not sure but there is a similar feature in the California
Constitution; at least, the practice is carried on to some extent at
Sacramento during the sittings of the Legislature. Measures of the most
vital importance are first introduced in rum cocktails, then steeped in
whisky, after which they are engrossed in gin for a third reading.
Before the final vote the opponents adjourn to a game of _poker_ or
_sledge_, and upon the amount of Champagne furnished on the occasion by
the respective parties interested in the bill depends its passage or
defeat. It was said that Champagne carried one of the great senatorial
elections; but this has been denied, and it would be dangerous to insist
upon it.
I had the pleasure of meeting in Carson an esteemed friend from San
Francisco, Mr. A. J. Van Winkle, Real Estate Agent, who, being a
descendant of the famous Rip Van Winkle, was thoughtful enough to
furnish me with a bunk to sleep in. Warned by the fate of his unhappy
ancestor, my friend had gone briskly into the land business, and now
owned enough of town lots, of amazingly appreciative value, to keep any
man awake for the remainder of his life. I think if I had as much
property, doubling itself up all the time like an acrobat in a circus, I
would never sleep another wink thinking about it.
Chief among the curiosities of Carson City is the _Territorial
Enterprise_--a newspaper of an origin long anterior to the mining
excitement. I was introduced to "the Colonel," who presides over the
editorial department, and found him uncommonly strong on the ultimate
destiny of Carson. His office was located in a dirty frame shanty,
where, amid types, rollers, composing-stones, and general rubbish of a
dark and literary aspect, those astounding editorials which now and then
arouse the public mind are concocted. The Colonel and his compositors
live in a sort of family fashion, entirely free from the rigorous
etiquette of such establishments in New York. They cook their own food
in the composition room (which is also the editorial and press room),
and being, as a general thing, short of plates, use the frying-pan in
common for that purpose. In cases of great festivity and rejoicing, when
a subscriber has settled up arrearages or the cash is paid down for a
good job of hand-bills, the Colonel purchases the best tenderloin steak
to be had in market, and cooks it with one hand, while with the other he
writes a letter of thanks to the subscriber, or a puff on the hand-bill.
But the great hope upon which the Colonel feeds his imagination is the
removal of the seat of government from Salt Lake to Carson City, which
he considers the proper place. Mr. Van Winkle is also of the same
opinion; and, as a general thing, the proposition is favorably
entertained by the citizens of Carson.
As usual in new countries, a strong feeling of rivalry exists between
the Carsonites and the inhabitants of Virginia City. I have summed up
the arguments on both sides and reduced them to the following pungent
essence:
Virginia City--a mud-hole; climate, hurricanes and snow; water, a
dilution of arsenic, plumbago, and copperas; wood, none at all except
sage-brush; no title to property, and no property worth having.
Carson City--a mere accident; occupation of the inhabitants, waylaying
strangers bound for Virginia; business, selling whisky, and so dull at
that, men fall asleep in the middle of the street going from one
groggery to another; productions, grass and weeds on the Plaza.
While this fight is going on, Silver City, which lies about midway
between the two, shrugs her shoulders and thanks her stars there can be
no rivalry in her case. If ever there was a spot fitted by nature for a
seat of government, it is Silver City--the most central, the most moral,
the most promising; in short, the only place where the seat of
government can exist for any length of time.
This Kilkenny-cat fight is highly edifying to a stranger, who, of
course, is expected to take sides, or at once acknowledge himself an
enemy. The result, I hope, will be satisfactory and triumphant to all
parties. I would suggest that the government be split into three slices,
and a slice stowed away under ground in each of the great cities, so
that it may permeate the foundations of society.
CHAPTER IV.
AN INFERNAL CITY.
A few days after my arrival in Carson the sky darkened, and we soon had
a specimen of the spring weather of this region. To say that it stormed,
snowed, and rained would be ridiculously tame in comparison with the
real state of the case. The wind whistled through the thin shanties in a
manner that left scarcely a hope of roof or frame standing till night.
Through the crevices came little hurricanes of snow-drift mixed with
sand; each tenement groaned and creaked as if its last hour had come;
the air was bitterly cold; and it seemed, in short, as if the vengeance
of Heaven had been let loose on this desolate and benighted region.
Next day the clouds gradually lifted from the mountain tops, and the sun
once more shone out bright and clear. The snow, which now covered the
valley, began to disappear; the lowing of half-starved cattle, in search
of the few green patches visible here and there, gave some promise of
life; but soon the portentous gusts of wind swept down again from the
canyons; dark clouds overspread the sky, and a still more violent storm
than on the preceding day set in, and continued without intermission all
night. By morning the whole face of the country was covered with snow. A
few stragglers came in from Woodford's, who reported that the trail to
Placerville was covered up to the depth of six or eight feet, and was
entirely impracticable for man or beast. Apprehensions were felt for the
safety of the trains on the way through, as nothing could be heard from
them. A large party had started out to open the trail, but were forced
back by the severity of the weather. The snow-drifts were said to vary
from twenty to thirty feet in depth.
Here was a pretty predicament! To be shut up in this desolate region,
where even the cattle were dying of starvation, with seven or eight
thousand human mouths to be fed, and the stock of provisions rapidly
giving out, was rather a serious aspect of affairs. I do not know that
actual starvation could have resulted for some time, certainly not until
what cattle were alive had been killed, and soup made of the dead
carcasses that covered the plain. Even before resorting to the latter
extremity there were horses, mules, burros, and dogs on hand, upon
which the cravings of hunger might be appeased for a month or so; and in
the event of all these resources giving out, should the worst come to
the worst, the few Digger Indians that hung around the settlements might
be made available as an article of temporary subsistence.
In this extremity, when considerable suffering, if not absolute
starvation, stared us in the face, the anxiety respecting the opening of
the trails became general. Groups of men of divers occupations stood in
the streets, or on every little rise of ground in the neighborhood,
speculating upon the chances or peering through the gloom in the hope of
discerning the approach of some relief train. The sugar was gone; flour
was eighty dollars a sack, and but little to be had at that; barley was
seventy-five cents a pound, and hay sixty cents; horses were dying for
want of something to eat; cigars were rapidly giving out; whisky might
stand the pull another week, but the prospect was gloomy of any thing
more nourishing.
In this exciting state of affairs, when every brain was racked to devise
ways and means of relief, and when hope of succor was almost at an end,
a scout came running in from the direction of the Downerville trail with
the glorious tidings of an approaching mule train. The taverns, billiard
saloons, groggeries, and various stores were soon empty--every body
rushed down the street to have assurance made doubly sure. Cheer after
cheer burst from the elated crowd when the train hove in sight. On it
came--at first like a row of ants creeping down the hillside; then
nearer and larger, till the clatter of the hoofs and the rattling of the
packs could be heard; then the blowing of the tired mules; and at last
the leader, an old gray mule, came staggering wearily along heavily
packed. A barrel was poised on his back--doubtless a barrel of beef, or
it might be pork, or bacon. The brand heaves in sight. Per Baccho! it is
neither beef, pork, nor bacon, but _whisky_--old Bourbon whisky! The
next mule totters along under two half barrels. Speculation is rife.
Every man with a stomach and an appetite for wholesome food is
interested. Pigs' feet perhaps, or mackerel, or, it may be, preserved
chicken? But here is the mark--_brandy_; by the powers! nothing but
_brandy!_ However, here comes the third with a load of five-gallon
kegs--molasses beyond question, or lard, or butter? Wrong again,
gentlemen--_gin_, nothing but _gin_. On staggers a fourth, heavily
burdened with more kegs--sugar, or corn-meal, or preserved apples, I'll
bet my head. Never bet your head. It is nothing but bitters--_Mack's
Bitters_! But surely the fifth carries a box of crushed sugar on his
back, he bears himself so gayly under his burden. And well he may! That
box contains no more sugar than you do, my friend; it is stuffed
choke-full with decanters, tumblers, and pewter spoons. But there are
still ten or fifteen mules more. Surely there must be some provisions in
the train. Nobody can live to a very protracted period of life on
brandy, whisky, gin, Mack's Bitters, and glass-ware. Alas for human
expectation! One by one the jaded animals pass, groaning and tottering
under their heavy burdens--a barrel of rum; two boxes of bottled ale;
six crates of Champagne; two pipes of California wine; a large crate of
bar fixtures; and a dozen boxes of cigars--none of them nutritious
articles of subsistence.
As if to enhance our troubles, the party in charge of the train had been
nearly starved out in the mountains, and now came in the very lankest
and hungriest of the crowd. If they were thirsty, it was their own
fault; but none of them looked as if they had suffered in that respect.
[Illustration: THE STAGE.]
Before entering into the responsible duties of my agency, I was desirous
of seeing as much of the mining region as possible, and with this view
took the stage for Virginia City. The most remarkable peculiarity on the
road was the driver, whose likeness I struck in a happy moment of
inspiration. At Silver City, eight miles from Carson, I dismounted,
and proceeded the rest of the way on foot. The road here becomes rough
and hilly, and but little is to be seen of the city except a few tents
and board shanties. Half a mile beyond is a remarkable gap cut by Nature
through the mountain, as if for the express purpose of giving the road
an opportunity to visit Virginia City.
As I passed through the Devil's Gate it struck me that there was
something ominous in the name. "Let all who enter here--" But I had
already reached the other side. It was too late now for repentance. I
was about to inquire where the devil--Excuse me, I use the word in no
indecorous sense. I was simply about to ask where he lived, when,
looking up the road, I saw amid the smoke and din of shivered rocks,
where grimy imps were at work blasting for ore, a string of adventurers
laden with picks, shovels, and crowbars; kegs of powder, frying-pans,
pitch-forks, and other instruments of torture--all wearily toiling in
the same direction; decrepit old men, with avarice imprinted upon their
furrowed brows; Jews and Gentiles, foot-weary and haggard; the young and
the old, the strong and the weak, all alike burning with an unhallowed
lust for lucre; and then I shuddered as the truth flashed upon me that
they were going straight to--Virginia City.
Every foot of the canyon was claimed, and gangs of miners were at work
all along the road, digging and delving into the earth like so many
infatuated gophers. Many of these unfortunate creatures lived in holes
dug into the side of the hill, and here and there a blanket thrown over
a few stakes served as a domicile to shield them from the weather.
At Gold Hill, two miles beyond the Gate, the excitement was quite
pitiable to behold. Those who were not at work burrowing holes into the
mountain were gathered in gangs around the whisky saloons, pouring
liquid fire down their throats, and swearing all the time in a manner so
utterly reckless as to satisfy me they had long since bid farewell to
hope.
[Illustration: THE DEVIL'S GATE.]
This district is said to be exceedingly rich in gold, and I fancy it may
well be so, for it is certainly rich in nothing else. A more
barren-looking and forbidding spot could scarcely be found elsewhere on
the face of the earth. The whole aspect of the country indicates that it
must have been burned up in hot fires many years ago and reduced to a
mass of cinders, or scraped up from all the desolate spots in the known
world, and thrown over the Sierra Nevada Mountains in a confused mass to
be out of the way. I do not wish to be understood as speaking
disrespectfully of any of the works of creation, but it is inconceivable
that this region should ever have been designed as an abode for man.
A short distance beyond Gold Hill we came in sight of the great mining
capital of Washoe, the far-famed Virginia City. In the course of a
varied existence it had been my fortune to visit the city of Jerusalem,
the city of Constantinople, the city of the Sea, the City of the Dead,
the Seven Cities, and others of historical celebrity in the Old World,
and many famous cities in the New, including Port Townsend, Crescent
City, Benicia, and the New York of the Pacific, but I had never yet
beheld such a city as that which now burst upon my distended organs of
vision.
On a slope of mountains speckled with snow, sage-bushes, and mounds of
upturned earth, without any apparent beginning or end, congruity or
regard for the eternal fitness of things, lay outspread the wondrous
city of Virginia.
Frame shanties, pitched together as if by accident; tents of canvas, of
blankets, of brush, of potato-sacks and old shirts, with empty
whisky-barrels for chimneys; smoky hovels of mud and stone; coyote holes
in the mountain side forcibly seized and held by men; pits and shafts
with smoke issuing from every crevice; piles of goods and rubbish on
craggy points, in the hollows, on the rocks, in the mud, in the snow,
every where, scattered broadcast in pell-mell confusion, as if the
clouds had suddenly burst overhead and rained down the dregs of all the
flimsy, rickety, filthy little hovels and rubbish of merchandise that
had ever undergone the process of evaporation from the earth since the
days of Noah. The intervals of space, which may or may not have been
streets, were dotted over with human beings of such sort, variety, and
numbers, that the famous ant-hills of Africa were as nothing in the
comparison. To say that they were rough, muddy, unkempt and unwashed,
would be but faintly expressive of their actual appearance; they were
all this by reason of exposure to the weather; but they seemed to have
caught the very diabolical tint and grime of the whole place. Here and
there, to be sure, a San Francisco dandy of the "boiled shirt" and
"stove-pipe" pattern loomed up in proud consciousness of the triumphs of
art under adverse circumstances, but they were merely peacocks in the
barn-yard.
[Illustration: VIRGINIA CITY.]
A fraction of the crowd, as we entered the precincts of the town, were
engaged in a lawsuit relative to a question of title. The arguments used
on both sides were empty whisky-bottles, after the fashion of the
_Basilinum_, or club law, which, according to Addison, prevailed in the
colleges of learned men in former times. Several of the disputants had
already been knocked down and convinced, and various others were freely
shedding their blood in the cause of justice. Even the bull-terriers
took an active part--or, at least, a very prominent part. The difficulty
was about the ownership of a lot, which had been staked out by one party
and "jumped" by another. Some two or three hundred disinterested
observers stood by, enjoying the spectacle, several of them with their
hands on their revolvers, to be ready in case of any serious issue; but
these dangerous weapons are only used on great occasions--a refusal to
drink, or some illegitimate trick at monte.
[Illustration: A QUESTION OF TITLE.]
Upon fairly reaching what might be considered the centre of the town, it
was interesting to observe the manners and customs of the place. Groups
of keen speculators were huddled around the corners, in earnest
consultation about the rise and fall of stocks; rough customers, with
red and blue flannel shirts, were straggling in from the Flowery
Diggings, the Desert, and other rich points, with specimens of croppings
in their hands, or offering bargains in the "Rogers," the "Lady
Bryant," the "Mammoth," the "Woolly Horse," and Heaven knows how many
other valuable _leads_, at prices varying from ten to seventy-five
dollars a foot. Small knots of the knowing ones were in confidential
interchange of thought on the subject of every other man's business;
here and there a loose man was caught by the button, and led aside
behind a shanty to be "stuffed;" every body had some grand secret, which
nobody else could find out; and the game of "dodge" and "pump" was
universally played. Jew clothing-men were setting out their goods and
chattels in front of wretched-looking tenements; monte-dealers,
gamblers, thieves, cut-throats, and murderers were mingling
miscellaneously in the dense crowds gathered around the bars of the
drinking saloons. Now and then a half-starved Pah-Ute or Washoe Indian
came tottering along under a heavy press of fagots and whisky. On the
main street, where the mass of the population were gathered, a jaunty
fellow who had "made a good thing of it" dashed through the crowds on
horseback, accoutred in genuine Mexican style, swinging his _riata_ over
his head, and yelling like a devil let loose. All this time the wind
blew in terrific gusts from the four quarters of the compass, tearing
away signs, capsizing tents, scattering the grit from the gravel-banks
with blinding force in every body's eyes, and sweeping furiously around
every crook and corner in search of some sinner to smite. Never was such
a wind as this--so scathing, so searching, so given to penetrate the
very core of suffering humanity; disdaining overcoats, and utterly
scornful of shawls and blankets. It actually seemed to double up, twist,
pull, push, and screw the unfortunate biped till his muscles cracked and
his bones rattled--following him wherever he sought refuge, pursuing him
down the back of the neck, up the coat-sleeves, through the legs of his
pantaloons, into his boots--in short, it was the most villainous and
persecuting wind that ever blew, and I boldly protest that it did nobody
good.
Yet, in the midst of the general wreck and crash of matter, the business
of trading in claims, "bucking" and "bearing," went on as if the zephyrs
of Virginia were as soft and balmy as those of San Francisco.
[Illustration: "MY CLAIM, SIR."]
This was surely--No matter; nothing on earth could aspire to competition
with such a place. It was essentially infernal in every aspect, whether
viewed from the Comstock Ledge or the summit of Gold Hill. Nobody seemed
to own the lots except by right of possession; yet there was trading in
lots to an unlimited extent. Nobody had any money, yet every body was a
millionaire in silver claims. Nobody had any credit, yet every body
bought thousands of feet of glittering ore. Sales were made in the
Mammoth, the Lady Bryant, the Sacramento, the Winnebunk, and the
innumerable other "outside claims," at the most astounding figures, but
not a dime passed hands. All was silver under ground, and deeds and
mortgages on top; silver, silver every where, but scarce a dollar in
coin. The small change had somehow gotten out of the hands of the public
into the gambling saloons.
Every speck of ground covered by canvas, boards, baked mud, brush, or
other architectural material, was jammed to suffocation; there were
sleeping houses, twenty feet by thirty, in which from one hundred and
fifty to two hundred solid sleepers sought slumber at night, at a dollar
a head; tents, eight by ten, offering accommodations to the multitude;
any thing or any place, even a stall in a stable, would have been a
luxury.
[Illustration: GOLD HILL.]
The chief hotel, called, if I remember, the "Indication," or the "Hotel
de Haystack," or some such euphonious name, professed to accommodate
three hundred live men, and it doubtless did so, for the floors were
covered from the attic to the solid earth--three hundred human beings in
a tinder-box not bigger than a first-class hen-coop! But they were
sorry-looking sleepers as they came forth each morning, swearing at the
evil genius who had directed them to this miserable spot--every man a
dollar and a pound of flesh poorer. I saw some, who perhaps were short
of means, take surreptitious naps against the posts and walls in the
bar-room, while they ostensibly professed to be mere spectators.
[Illustration: SAN FRANCISCO SPECULATORS.]
In truth, wherever I turned there was much to confirm the forebodings
with which I had entered the Devil's Gate. The deep pits on the
hill-sides; the blasted and barren appearance of the whole country; the
unsightly hodge-podge of a town; the horrible confusion of tongues; the
roaring, raving drunkards at the bar-rooms, swilling fiery liquids from
morning till night; the flaring and flaunting gambling-saloons, filled
with desperadoes of the vilest sort; the ceaseless torrent of
imprecations that shocked the ear on every side; the mad speculations
and feverish thirst for gain--all combined to give me a forcible
impression of the unhallowed character of the place.
[Illustration: ASSAY OFFICE.]
What dreadful savage is that? I asked, as a ferocious-looking monster in
human shape stalked through the crowd. Is it--can it be the--? No;
that's only a murderer. He shot three men a few weeks ago, and will
probably shoot another before night. And this aged and decrepit man, his
thin locks floating around his haggard and unshaved face, and matted
with filth? That's a speculator from San Francisco. See how wildly he
grasps at every "indication," as if he had a lease of life for a
thousand years! And this bull-dog fellow, with a mutilated face,
button-holing every by-passer? That fellow? Oh, he's only a "bummer" in
search of a cocktail. And this--and this--all these crazy-looking
wretches, running hither and thither with hammers and stones in their
hands, calling one another aside, hurrying to the assay offices, pulling
out papers, exchanging mysterious signals--who and what are all these?
Oh, these are Washoe millionaires. They are deep in "outside claims."
The little fragments of rock they carry in their hands are "croppings"
and "indications" from the "Wake-up-Jake," "Root-Hog-or-Die,"
"Wild-Cat," "Grizzly-Hill," "Dry-up," "Same Horse," "Let-her-Rip," "You
Bet," "Gouge-Eye," and other famous ledges and companies, in which they
own some thousands of feet. Hold, good friend! I am convinced there is
no rest for the wicked. All night long these dreadful noises continue;
the ears are distracted with an unintelligible jargon of "croppings,"
"ledges," "lodes," "leads," "indications," "feet," and "strikes," and
the nostrils offended with foul odors of boots, old pipes, and dirty
blankets--who can doubt the locality? If the climate is more rigorous
than Dante describes it--if Calypso might search in vain for Ulysses in
such a motley crowd--these apparent differences are not inconsistent
with the general theory of changes produced by American emigration and
the sudden conglomeration of such incongruous elements.
I was grieved and astonished to find many friends here--some of them
gentlemen who had borne a very fair reputation in San Francisco, and
whose unhappy fate I never could have anticipated. The bankers and
brokers who had been cut off, after a prosperous career on Montgomery
Street, had, of course, reached the goal toward which they had long been
tending; the lawyers, who had set their unfortunate fellow-creatures by
the ears, were now in a congenial element; the hard traders and
unscrupulous speculators, who had violated all the moral obligations of
life in their greedy lust for money, naturally abounded in large
numbers; in short, it was not a matter of surprise that justice had at
length been dealt out to many sinful men. But when I recognized friends
whom I had formerly known as good citizens, the fathers of interesting
families, exemplary members of society in San Francisco, I was
profoundly shocked. It was impossible to deny that they must have been
guilty of some grievous wickedness to entitle them to such a punishment.
(What surprised me most of all was to find Colonel R----, to whom I had
a letter of introduction, the leading spirit here. His assistance was
sought by all. He was the best friend to any man in need of advice.
Hospitality with him was a cardinal virtue. He had turned out of his own
snug quarters long since to make room for the sick and disabled, and now
slept about wherever he could find shelter. He was chief owner in the
"Comstock Lead," and showed great liberality in giving a helping hand to
others on the road to fortune. In fine, I am utterly unable to determine
for what crime he was now suffering expiation. There was nothing in his
conduct that I could discover the least unbecoming to a good citizen.
His benevolence, hospitality, and genial manners were worthy any
Christian. To me and to many others he proved the good Samaritan, and I
still hesitate to believe that he merited the hard fate now meted out to
him. But who can fathom the judgments pronounced upon men?)
The bare contemplation of the miseries suffered by the inhabitants of
this dreadful place was enough to stagger all convictions of my
identity. Could it be possible that I was at last in--in Virginia City?
What had I done to bring me to this? In vain I entered into a
retrospection of the various iniquities of my life; but I could hit upon
nothing that seemed bad enough to warrant such a fate. At length a
withering truth flashed upon me. This must be the end of a federal
existence! This must be the abode of ex-inspector-generals! It must be
here that the accounts current of the decapitated are examined. Woe to
the wretch who failed to profit by specie clause of the Independent
Treasury Act while he had official claws on hand! Such _laches_ of
public duty can not be tolerated even in--Virginia City.
[Illustration: A FALL.]
I slept, or rather tried to sleep, at one "Zip's," where there were only
twenty "bunks" in the room, and was fortunate in securing a bunk even
there. But the great Macbeth himself, laboring under the stings of an
evil conscience, could have made a better hand of sleeping than I did at
Zip's. It proved to be a general meeting-place for my San Francisco
friends, and as they were all very rich in mining claims, and bent on
getting still richer, they were continually making out deeds, examining
titles, trading and transferring claims, discussing the purchases and
prospects of the day, and exhibiting the most extraordinary
"indications" yet discovered, in which one or other of them held an
interest of fifty or a hundred feet, worth, say, a thousand dollars a
foot. Between the cat-naps of oblivion that visited my eyes there was a
constant din of "croppings"--"feet"--"fifty thousand dollars"--"struck
it rich!"--"the Comstock Ledge!"--"the Billy Choller!"--"Miller on the
rise!"--"Mammoth!"--"Sacramento!"--"Lady Bryant!"--"a thousand feet
more!"--"great bargain"--"forty dollars a foot!"--crash! rip!
bang!--"an earthquake!"--"run for your lives!"
What the deuce is the matter?
It happened thus one night. The wind was blowing in terrific gusts. In
the midst of the general clatter on the subject of croppings, bargains,
and indications, down came our next neighbor's house on the top of us
with a terrific crash. For a moment it was difficult to tell which house
was the ruin. Amid projecting and shivered planks, the flapping of
canvas, and the howling of the wind, it really seemed as if chaos had
come again. But "Zip's" was well braced, and stood the shock without
much damage, a slight heel and lurch to leeward being the chief result.
I could not help thinking, as I turned in again after the alarm, that
there could no longer be a doubt on the subject which had already
occasioned me so many unpleasant reflections. It even seemed as if I
smelled something like brimstone; but, upon calling to Zip to know what
was the matter, he informed me that he was "only dryin' the boots on the
stove."
CHAPTER V.
SOCIETY OF VIRGINIA CITY.
[Illustration: THE COMSTOCK LEAD.]
Notwithstanding the number of physicians who had already hoisted their
"shingles," there was much sickness in Virginia, owing chiefly to
exposure and dissipation, but in some measure to the deleterious quality
of the water. Nothing more was wanting to confirm my original
impressions. The water was certainly the worst ever used by man.
Filtered through the Comstock Lead, it carried with it much of the
plumbago, arsenic, copperas, and other poisonous minerals alleged to
exist in that vein. The citizens of Virginia had discovered what they
conceived to be an infallible way of "correcting it;" that is to say,
it was their practice to mix a spoonful of water in half a tumbler of
whisky, and then drink it. The whisky was supposed to neutralize the bad
effects of the water. Sometimes it was considered good to mix it with
gin. I was unable to see how any advantage could be gained in this way.
The whisky contained strychnine, oil of tobacco, tarentula juice, and
various effective poisons of the same general nature, including a dash
of corrosive sublimate; and the gin was manufactured out of turpentine
and whisky, with a sprinkling of prussic acid to give it flavor. For my
part, I preferred taking poison in its least complicated form, and
therefore adhered to the water. With hot saleratus bread, beans fried in
grease, and such drink as this, it was no wonder that scores were taken
down sick from day to day.
Sickness is bad enough at the best of times, but here the condition of
the sick was truly pitiable. There was scarcely a tenement in the place
that could be regarded as affording shelter against the piercing wind;
and crowded as every tent and hovel was to its utmost capacity, it was
hard even to find a vacant spot to lie down, much less sleep or rest in
comfort. Many had come with barely means sufficient to defray their
expenses to the diggings, in the confident belief that they would
immediately strike upon "something rich;" or, if they failed in that,
they could work a while on wages. But the highest wages here for common
labor were three dollars a day, while meals were a dollar each, and
lodgings the same. It was a favor to get work for "grub." Under such
circumstances, when a poor fellow fell sick, his recovery could only be
regarded as a matter of luck. No record of the deaths was kept. The mass
of the emigration were strangers to each other, and it concerned nobody
in particular when a man "pegged out," except to put him in a hole
somewhere out of the way.
I soon felt the bad effects of the water. Possibly I had committed an
error in not mixing it with the other poisons; but it was quite
poisonous enough alone to give me violent pains in the stomach and a
very severe diarrhea. At the same time, I was seized with an acute
attack of rheumatism in the shoulder and neuralgic pains in the head.
The complication of miseries which I now suffered was beyond all my
calculations of the hardships of mining life. As yet I had struck
nothing better than "Winn's Restaurant," where I took my meals. The
Comstock Ledge was all very fine, but a THOUSAND DOLLARS A FOOT! Who
ever had a thousand dollars to put in a running foot of ground, when not
even the great Comstock himself could tell where it was running to. On
the whole, I did not consider the prospect cheering.
At this period there were no laws of any kind in the district for the
preservation of order. Some regulations had been established to secure
the right of discovery to claimants, but they were loose and indefinite,
differing in each district according to the caprice of the miners, and
subject to no enforcement except that of the revolver. In some
localities the original discoverer of a vein was entitled to 400 running
feet; he could put down the names of as many friends as he chose at 200
feet each. Notice had to be recorded at certain places of record,
designating the date and location of discovery. All "leads" were taken
up with their "dips, spurs, and angles." But who was to judge of the
"dips, spurs, and angles?" That was the difficulty. Every man ran them
to suit himself. The Comstock Ledge was in a mess of confusion. The
shareholders had the most enlarged views of its "dips, spurs, and
angles;" but those who struck croppings above and below were equally
liberal in their notions; so that, in fine, every body's spurs were
running into every body else's angles. The Cedar Hill Company were
spurring the Miller Company; the Virginia Ledge was spurring the
Continuation; the Dow Company were spurring the Billy Choller, and so
on. It was a free fight all round, in which the dips, spurs, and angles
might be represented thus, after the pattern of a bunch of snakes:
[Illustration: THE CLAIMS.]
The contention was very lively. Great hopes were entertained that when
Judge Cradlebaugh arrived he would hold court, and then there would be
some hope of settling these conflicting claims. I must confess I did not
share in the opinion that law would settle any dispute in which silver
was concerned. The Almaden Mine case is not yet settled, and never will
be as long as there are judges and juries to sit upon it, and lawyers to
argue it, and silver to pay expenses. Already Virginia City was infested
with gentlemen of the bar, thirsting and hungering for chances at the
Comstock. If it could only be brought into court, what a picking of
bones there would be!
When the snow began to clear away there was no end to the discoveries
alleged to be made every day. The Flowery Diggings, six miles below
Virginia, were represented to be wonderfully rich--so rich, indeed, that
the language of every speculator who held a claim there partook of the
flowery character of the diggings. The whole country was staked off to
the distance of twenty or thirty miles. Every hill-side was grubbed
open, and even the Desert was pegged, like the sole of a boot, with
stakes designating claims. Those who could not spare time to go out
"prospecting" hired others, or furnished provisions and pack-mules, and
went shares. If the prospecting party struck "any thing rich," it was
expected they would share it honestly; but I always fancied they would
find it more profitable to hold on to that, and find some other rich
lead for the resident partners.
In Virginia City, a man who had been at work digging a cellar found rich
indications. He immediately laid claim to a whole street covered with
houses. The excitement produced by this "streak of luck" was perfectly
frantic. Hundreds went to work grubbing up the ground under their own
and their neighbors' tents, and it was not long before the whole city
seemed in a fair way of being undermined. The famous _Winn_, as I was
told, struck the richest lead of all directly under his restaurant, and
was next day considered worth a million of dollars. The dips, spurs, and
angles of these various discoveries covered every foot of ground within
an area of six miles. It was utterly impossible that a fraction of the
city could be left. Owners of lots protested in vain. The mining laws
were paramount where there was no law at all. There was no security to
personal property, or even to persons. He who turned in to sleep at
night might find himself in a pit of silver by morning. At least it was
thus when I made up my mind to escape from that delectable region; and
now, four months later, I really don't know whether the great City of
Virginia is still in existence, or whether the inhabitants have not
found a "deeper deep, still threatening to devour."
[Illustration: "SILVER, CERTAIN, SIR!"]
It must not be supposed, from the general character of the population,
that Virginia City was altogether destitute of men skilled in scientific
pursuits. There were few, indeed, who did not profess to know something
of geology; and as for assayers and assay offices, they were almost as
numerous as barkeepers and groggeries. A tent, a furnace, half a dozen
crucibles, a bottle of acid, and a hammer, generally comprised the
entire establishment; but it is worthy of remark that the assays were
always satisfactory. Silver, or indications of silver, were sure to be
found in every specimen. I am confident some of these learned gentlemen
in the assay business could have detected the precious metals in an
Irish potato or a round of cheese for a reasonable consideration.
It was also a remarkable peculiarity of the country that the great
"Comstock Lead" was discovered to exist in almost every locality,
however remote or divergent from the original direction of the vein. I
know a gentleman who certainly discovered a continuation of the Comstock
forty miles from the Ophir mines, and at an angle of more than sixty
degrees. But how could the enterprising adventurer fail to hit upon
something rich, when every clod of earth and fragment of rock contained,
according to the assays, both silver and gold? There was not a coyote
hole in the ground that did not develop "indications." I heard of one
lucky fellow who struck upon a rich vein, and organized an extensive
company on the strength of having stumped his toe. Claims were even
staked out and companies organized on "indications" rooted up by the
squirrels and gophers. If they were not always indications of gold or
silver, they were sure to contain copper, lead, or some other valuable
mineral--plumbago or iridium, for instance. One man actually professed
to have discovered "ambergris;" but I think he must have been an old
whaler.
[Illustration: "INDICATIONS, SURE!"]
The complications of ills which had befallen me soon became so serious
that I resolved to get away by hook or crook, if it was possible to
cheat the ---- corporate authorities of their dues. I had not come there
to enlist in the service of Mammon at such wages.
Bundling up my pack one dark morning, I paid "Zip" the customary dollar,
and while the evil powers were roistering about the grog-shops, taking
their early bitters, made good my escape from the accursed place. Weak
as I was, the hope of never seeing it again gave me nerve; and when I
ascended the first elevation on the way to Gold Hill, and cast a look
back over the confused mass of tents and hovels, and thought of all I
had suffered there in the brief space of a few days, I involuntarily
exclaimed, "If ever I put foot in that hole again, may the--"
But perhaps I had better not use strong language till I once more get
clear of the Devil's Gate.
CHAPTER VI.
ESCAPE FROM VIRGINIA CITY.
As ill luck would have it, a perfect hurricane swept through the canyon
from Gold Hill, sometimes in gusts so sudden and violent that it was
utterly impossible to make an inch of headway. Tents were shivered and
torn to shreds all along the wayside. I saw one party sitting at
breakfast with nothing but the four posts which had originally sustained
their tent and a few fragments of canvas flapping from them as a
protection against the wind. Nothing could withstand its terrific
force. Cabins with bush tops were unroofed; frame shanties were rent
asunder, and the boards flew about like feathers; the air was filled
with grit and drift, striking the face as if the great guns, which are
sometimes said to blow, were loaded with duck-shot. Nor did the wind
confine itself to one channel. It ranged up hill and down hill, raking
the enemy fore and aft. In one place two tents were torn up, as one
might say, by the roots, and carried off bodily to the top of the
mountain; in another, half a dozen might be seen traveling down hill, at
the rate of forty miles an hour, toward the Flowery Diggings. What
became of all the unfortunate wretches who were thus summarily deprived
of their local habitations I never learned. Most likely they sought
refuge in the coyote holes, which, in fact, appeared to be untenanted;
for I don't think coyotes could live long in such a country.
A short distance beyond Gold Hill a trail strikes off to the right,
which is said to cut off four or five miles of the distance to Carson
City. That would be a considerable gain to a traveler making his escape
from Virginia City, and whose every step was attended with extreme
physical suffering, to say nothing of the mental disquietude occasioned
by his proximity to that place. Besides, it avoided the "Devil's Gate,"
of which I had also an intense dread. What hordes of dark and inexorable
imps might be laying in wait there, with pitchforks to impale a poor
fellow upon, and kegs of blasting powder to blow him up; what accounts
might have to be rendered of one's stewardship at head-quarters; what
particular kind of passport, sanded over with brimstone and stamped with
a cloven foot, might be demanded, it was not possible to conjecture. At
all events, it was safer to incur no risk. The old adage of the "longest
way round" did not occur to me.
I took the trail, and was soon out of sight of Gold City. The mountains
were covered with snow, not very deep, but soft and slippery. In my weak
state, with a racking rheumatism and the prostrating effects of the
arsenic water, the labor of making headway against the fierce gusts of
wind and keeping the trail was very severe. Every few hundred yards I
had to lie down in the snow and await some relief from the paroxysms of
pain. After an hour or two I reached a labyrinth of hills, in which the
trail became lost by the melting of the snow. I still had some idea of
the general direction, and kept on. My progress, however, was very slow,
and at times so difficult that it required considerable effort of mind
to avoid stopping altogether, and "taking the chances," as they say, in
this agreeable region. Now all this may seem very absurd, as compared
with the sufferings endured by Colonel Fremont in the Rocky Mountains,
and doubtless is, in some respects. As, for instance: I was not shut up
in a gorge of the mountains, a thousand miles from the habitations of
man; I was not in a state of starvation, though thin enough for a
starved man in all conscience; I was not at all likely to remain in any
one position, however isolated, without being "spotted" by some
enterprising miner in search of indications. But then, on the other
hand, I was thoroughly dredged with arsenic, plumbago, copperas, and
corrosive sublimate, and had neither mule nor "burro"--not even a woolly
horse to carry me. Does any body pretend to say that the renowned arctic
explorers ever encountered such a series of hardships as this? Four or
five months of perpetual night, with the thermometer 80 deg. below zero, may
be uncomfortable; but then the adventurer in the polar regions has the
advantage of being the farthest possible distance from certain other
regions--say, from Virginia City.
About noon I came to the conclusion that, however willing the spirit
might be, the flesh had done its best, and was now quite used up; so I
stretched myself on the snow under a cedar bush, and resolved to await
what assistance Providence might send me. I was not long there when a
voice in the distance caught my ear. I rose and called. In a few
minutes a mysterious figure emerged from the bushes at the mouth of a
canyon a few hundred feet below. I beckoned to him to come up. The
singular appearance and actions of the man attracted my attention.
His face was nearly black with dirt, and his hair was long and shaggy.
On his head he wore a tattered cap, tied around the chin with a blue
cotton handkerchief. A tremendous blue nose, a pair of green goggles,
and boots extending up to his hips, completed the oddity of his
appearance. At first he approached me rapidly; but at the distance of
about fifty yards he halted, as if uncertain what to do. He then put
down his pack, and began to search for something in the pockets of his
coat--a knife, perhaps, or a pistol. Could it be possible this fellow
was a robber, who had descried me from the opposite mountain, and was
now bent upon murder? If so, it would be as well to bring the matter to
an issue at once. I was unarmed, having even lost my penknife by reason
of a rent in my pocket. There were desperate characters in this
wilderness, who would think nothing of killing a man for his money; and
although I had only about forty dollars left, that fact could not
possibly be known to this marauder. His appearance, to be sure, was not
formidable; but then one should not be too hasty in judging by
appearances. For all I knew he might be the--Old Gentleman himself on a
tour of inspection from Virginia City.
"Hallo, friend!" said I, assuming a conciliatory tone, "where are you
bound?"
Upon this he approached a little closer. I soon perceived that he was a
German Jew, who had either lost his way or was prospecting for silver.
As he drew near, he manifested some signs of trepidation, evidently
being afraid I would rob him of his pack, in which there was probably
some jewelry or old clothes. It is hardly necessary for me to say that I
had no intention of robbing him. I had not come to that yet. There was
no telling to what straits I might be reduced; but, as long as I had a
dollar in my pocket, I was determined to avoid highway robbery. Besides,
it was beyond my strength at this particular crisis; a fact which the
Jew seemed to recognize, for he now approached confidently. His first
exclamation, on reaching the spot where I stood, was,
"Dank Gott! Ish dis de trail?"
"Where are you bound?"
"To Carson. I pe going to Carson, and I pe losht for six hours. Mein
Gott! It ish an awful country. You know the way?"
"Of course. You don't suppose I'd be here if I didn't know the way?"
"Dat is zo."
"Come on, friend; I'm going in that direction. But don't walk very
fast--I'm sick."
"Zo? Was is de matter?"
"Poisoned."
"Mein Gott! mein Gott! Das is awful."
"Very--it makes a fellow so weak."
"Mein Gott! Did dey poison you for your money?" And here the Jew put his
hands behind him to see if his pack was safe.
"Oh no, it was only the water--arsenic and copperas."
"Zo!"
This explanation apparently relieved him of a very unpleasant train of
thought, for he now became quite lively and talkative. As we trudged
along, chatting sociably on various matters of common interest, it
occurred to me from time to time that I had seen this man's face before.
The idea grew upon me. It was not a matter of particular importance, and
yet I could not banish it. His voice, too, was familiar. Certainly there
was something about him that possessed an uncommon interest.
"Friend," said I, "it occurs to me I've seen you before."
"Zo? I dink de same."
[Illustration: AN OLD FRIEND.]
Some moments elapsed before I could fix upon the occasion or the place.
All at once the truth flashed upon me. It was Strawberry Flat! I had
slept with the man! This was the identical wretch who had robbed me of
my stockings! In the excitement produced by the discovery and the
recollection of my blistered feet, I verily believe, had I been armed
with a broad-sword or battle-axe, after the fashion of Brian de Bois
Guilbert, I would have cloven him in twain.
"Ha! I remember; it was at Strawberry! You slept with me one night,"
said I, in a tone of suppressed passion.
"Das is it! Das is it!" cried the Jew. "I shlept mit you at
Sthrawberry!"
The effrontery of the villain was remarkable. Probably he would even
acknowledge the theft.
"Friend," said I, calmly and deliberately, "did you miss a pair of
woolen stockings in the morning about the time you started?"
"Look here!" quoth the wretch, suddenly halting, "was dey yours?"
"They were!"
At this the abominable rascal doubled himself up as if in a convulsion,
shook all over, and turned almost black in the face. It was his mode of
laughing.
"Well, I daught dey wos yours! I daught to myself, Mein Gott! how dat
fellow will shwear when he find his sthockings gone!"
And here the convulsions were so violent that he fairly rolled over in
the snow, and kicked as if in the agonies of death. It was doubtless
very funny to rob a man of his valuable property and cause him days of
suffering from blistered feet; but I was unable to see any wit in it
till the Jew regained his breath and said,
"Vel, vel! I must sthand dhreat for dat! I know'd you'd shwear when you
missed 'em. Vel, vel! das is goot! Here's a flask of first-rate
brandy--dhrink!"
I took a small pull--medicinally, of course. From that moment my
forgiveness was complete. I harbored not a particle of resentment
against the man, though I never again could have entertained implicit
confidence in his integrity.
In due time we reached the banks of Carson River at a place called Dutch
John's, distant about four miles from Carson City. I have an impression
that John was an emigrant from Salt Lake. He had brought with him a
woman to whom he was "sealed," and was the father of a thriving little
family of "cotton-heads." Some of the stage-drivers who were in the
habit of taking a "smile" at John's persuaded him that he was now among
a moral and civilized people, and must get married. To be "sealed" to a
woman was not enough. He must be spliced according to Church and State,
otherwise he would wake up some fine morning and find himself hanging to
a tree. John had heard that the Californians were terrible fellows, and
had a mortal dread of Vigilance Committees. The stage-drivers were
rather a clever set of fellows, and no way strict in morals; but then
they might hang him for fun, and what would be fun to them would be
death to him. There was some charm in living an immoral life, to be
sure, yet it would not do to enjoy that disreputable course at the
expense of a disjointed neck. On the whole, John took the advice of the
stage-drivers, and got married. Next day he rode through the streets of
Carson, boasting of the adroit manner in which he had escaped the
vengeance of the Vigilance Committee. I am happy to add that he is now a
respectable member of the community. Not that I recommend his whisky. I
consider it infinitely worse than any ever manufactured out of
tobacco-juice, Cayenne pepper, and whale-oil at Port Townsend,
Washington Territory, where the next worst whisky in the world is used
as the common beverage of the inhabitants.
Leaving John's we came to the plain. Here the sand was heavy, and the
walking very monotonous and tiresome. This part of Carson Valley is a
complete desert. Scarcely a blade of grass was to be seen. Shriveled
sage-bushes scattered here and there over the sand were the only signs
of vegetation. Even the rabbits and sage-hens had abandoned the country.
All the open spaces resembled the precincts of a slaughter-house. Cattle
lay dead in every direction, their skulls, horns, and carcasses giving
an exceedingly desolate aspect to the scene. Near the river it was a
perfect mass of corruption. Hundreds upon hundreds of bleached skeletons
and rotting carcasses dotted the banks or lay in great mounds, where
they had gathered for mutual warmth, and dropped down from sheer
starvation. The smell filled the air for miles. Thousands of buzzards
had gathered in from all parts to the great carnival of
flesh--presenting a disgusting spectacle as they sat gorged and
stupefied on the foul masses of carrion, they scarcely deigning to move
as we passed. In the sloughs bordering on the river, oxen, cows, and
horses were buried up to the necks where they had striven to get to the
water, but, from excess of weakness, had failed to get back to the solid
earth. Some were dead, others were dying. Around the latter the buzzards
were already hovering, scarcely awaiting the extinction of life before
they plunged in their ravenous beaks and tore out the eyes from the
sockets. On the dry plain many hundreds of cattle had fallen from
absolute starvation. The winter had been terribly severe, and the
prolonged snows had covered what little vegetation there was. Those of
the settlers who had saved hay enough for their stock found it more
profitable to sell it at $300 a ton and let the stock die. Horses, oxen,
and cows shared the same fate. Many lingered out the winter on the few
stunted shrubs to be found on the foot-hills, and died just as the grass
began to appear. It was a hard country for animals of all kinds. Those
that were retained for the transportation of goods were little better
than living skeletons, yet the amount of labor put upon them was
extraordinary. In Virginia City it was almost impossible to procure a
grain of barley for love or money. Enormous prices were offered for any
kind of horse-feed by men who had come over on good horses, and who
wished to keep them alive. At the rate of five dollars a day it required
but a short time for the best horse to "eat his head off." Hay was sold
in little wisps of a few pounds at sixty cents a pound, barley at
seventy-five cents, and but little to be had even at those extravagant
rates. A friend of mine from San Francisco, who arrived on a favorite
horse, could get nothing in the way of feed but bread, and he paid fifty
cents a loaf for a few scanty loaves about the size of biscuits to keep
the poor animal alive. It was truly pitiable to see fine horses starving
to death. The severity of the weather and the want of shelter were
terribly severe on animals of every kind. Good horses could scarcely be
sold for a tenth part of their cost, though the distance across the
mountain could be performed under ordinary circumstances in two days.
But where all was rush and confusion there was little time to devote to
the calls of humanity. Men were crazy after claims. Every body had his
fortune to make in a few months. The business of jockeying had not grown
into full vogue except among a few, who were always willing to sell at
very high prices and buy at very low--a remarkable fact connected with
dealers in horseflesh.
[Illustration: CARSON VALLEY.]
The walk across Carson Valley through the heavy sand had exhausted what
little of my strength remained, and I was about to give up the ghost for
the third time, when a wagoner from Salt Lake gave me a lift on his
wagon and enabled me to reach the town. Here my excellent friend Van
Winkle gave me another chance in his bunk, and in the course of a few
days I was quite recruited.
CHAPTER VII.
MY WASHOE AGENCY.
The courteous reader who has followed me so far will doubtless be
disappointed that I have given so little practical information about the
mines. Touching that I can only say, as Macaulay said of Sir Horace
Walpole, the constitution of my mind is such that whatever is great
appears to me little, and whatever is little seems great. The serious
pursuits of life I regard as a monstrous absurdity on the part of
mankind, especially rooting in the ground for money. The Washoe mines
are nothing more than squirrel-holes on a large scale, the difference
being that squirrels burrow in the ground because they live there, and
men because they want to live somewhere else. I deny and repudiate the
idea that any man really has any necessity for money. He only thinks he
does--which is a most unaccountable error.
But then you may have some notion of going to Washoe yourself, just to
try your luck. Good friend, let me advise you--don't go. Stay where you
are. Devote the remainder of your life to your legitimate business, your
wife, and your baby. Don't go to Washoe. If you have no money, or but
little, you had better go to--any other place. It is no retreat for a
poor man. The working of silver mines requires capital. A poor man can
not make wages in Washoe. If you are rich and wish to speculate--a word
in your ear.
[Illustration: HOLDING ON TO IT.]
"The undersigned is prepared to sell at reasonable prices"
[this I quote from one of my advertisements] "valuable
claims in the following companies:
The Dead Broke,
The Rip Snorter,
The Love's Despair,
The Ragged End,
The Fool Hardy,
The Ousel Owl,
The Grab Game,
The Riff-Raff.
"The titles to all these claims are perfect, and the
purchaser of any claim will have no difficulty whatever in
holding on to it."
I hope it will not be inferred from the desponding tone of my narrative
that I deny the existence of silver in Washoe, for certainly nothing is
farther from my intention. That there is silver in the Comstock Lead,
and in great quantities, is a well-established fact. How many thousands
of tons may be there it is impossible for me to say, but there must be
an immense quantity--beyond all calculation in fact, as the ore is
scattered all around the mines in great heaps, and every heap is said to
be worth a fortune if it would only bear transportation to San Francisco
at an expense of $600 per ton. The best of it is sorted out and packed
off on mules every day or two, partly to get the silver out of it, and
partly to show the speculators in San Francisco that the mines have not
yet given out. The yield per ton is estimated at from $1200 to $2500.
During the time of my visit to the mines but little work could be done
on account of the number of speculators who were engaged in trying to
sell out, few of them being disposed to engage in the slow operation of
mining. Some said it was on account of the weather, but I suspect the
weather had very little to do with it. The following is a rough estimate
of the companies who claim to hold in the Comstock vein:
Billy Choller 1820 feet.
Hill and Norcross 250 "
Goold and Curry 300 "
Savage 800 "
Washoe 1200 "
Belcher and Best 223 "
Sides Ground 500 "
Murphy 100 "
Kinney 60 "
Central 100 "
California 250 "
Welch and Bryan 50 "
Central (again) 150 "
Ophir 200 "
Mexican 10 "
Continuation of Ophir 1200 "
Newman, Scott, & Co. 300 "
Miller Co. 3000 "
Bob Allen and others 900 "
[Illustration: MOUNT OPHIR.]
Besides about forty miles of outside claims, said to be on a direct line
with the Comstock, and to be richer, if any thing, than the original vein.
When I left, the prices asked for a share in any of the above companies
ranged from $200 to $2000 per running foot, and it was alleged that the
purchaser could follow his running foot through all its dips, spurs, and
angles. Some of these companies numbered as high as two or three
hundred. I know a gentleman who sold out all his assets and invested the
proceeds, $800, in 8 inches of the Central, and another who mortgaged
his property to secure five feet in the Billy Choller. These gentlemen
are, in all probability, at this moment worth a million of dollars each.
[Illustration: CROPPINGS.]
In short, the whole country looks black, blue, and white with silver,
and where there is no silver there are croppings which indicate
sulphurets or copperas.
[Illustration: THE FLOWERY DIGGINGS.]
The Flowery Diggings were in full flower; and if they have since failed
to realize the expectations that were then formed of them, it must be
because the Mammoth lead gave out, or Lady Bryant did not sustain her
reputation.
[Illustration: HONEST MINER.]
To the honest miner I have a word to say. You are a free-born American
citizen--that is, unless you were born in Ireland, which is so much the
better, or in Germany, which is better still. You live by the sweat of
your brow. You are God's noblest work--an honest man. The free exercise
of the right of suffrage is guaranteed to you by the glorious
Constitution of our common country. Upon your vote may depend the fate
of millions of American freemen, nay, fate of Freedom itself, and the
ultimate destiny of mankind. I do not appeal to you on the present
occasion for any personal favor. Thank Fortune, I am beyond that. But in
the name of common sense, in the name of our beloved state, in the name
of the great Continental Congress, I do appeal to you, if you have a
claim in California, HOLD ON TO IT! Don't go pirouetting about the
country in search of better claims, abandoning ills that you are well
acquainted with, and flying to others that you know nothing about. If
you do, you may find it "a gloomy prospect."
[Illustration: "A GLOOMY PROSPECT."]
I was now, so to say, permanently established at Carson City. In other
words, it was questionable whether I should ever be able to get away
without resorting to the intervention of friends, which was an
alternative too revolting for human nature to bear. The only resource
left was "The Agency." I had forgotten all about it hitherto, and now
resolved to call at the Express office, and see what fortune might be in
store for me. Surely the advertisement must have elicited various orders
of a lucrative nature. Nor was I disappointed. A package of letters
awaited me. Without violating any confidential obligations, I may say,
in general terms, that the contents and my answers were pretty much as
follows:
_A._ Wishes to know what the prospect would be in Washoe
for a young man of the medical profession. Has a small
stock of drugs, and proposes to engage in the practice of
medicine, and at the same time keep a drug store.
_Ans._ Doctors are already a drug in Washoe. Brandy,
whisky, and gin are the only medicines taken. Bring over a
lot of good liquors, prescribe them at two bits a dose,
and you will do well. Charge, $10--please remit.
_B._ Has about twenty head of fine American cows. Would
like to sell them, and wishes a contract made in advance.
_Ans._ Could find nobody who wanted to pay cash for cows.
Money is scarce and cows are plenty. Have sold your cows,
however, for the following valuable claims: 25 feet in the
Root-Hog-or-Die; 40 feet in the Let-her-Rip; 50 feet in
the Gone Case; and 100 feet in the You Bet. Charge, $25,
which please remit by Express.
_C._ Would like to know if a school could be established
in Washoe with any reasonable prospect of success. Has
been engaged in the business for some years, and is
qualified to teach the ordinary branches of a good English
education, or, if desired, Greek and Latin.
_Ans._ No time to waste in learning here, and no use for
the English language, much less Greek or Latin. A pious
missionary might find occupation. One accustomed to mining
could develop what indications there are of a spiritual
nature among the honest miners. No charge.
_D._ Wishes to invest about $1500 in some good claims. Has
three or four friends who will go in with him. Is willing
to honor a draft for that amount. Hopes I will strike
something rich.
_Ans._ Have bought a thousand feet for you in the very
best silver mines yet discovered. They are all in and
about the Devil's Gate. Several of them are supposed to
be in the Comstock Ledge. They are worth $50,000 this
moment; but if you can sell them in S. F. for an advance
of $2000, do so by all means, as the silver may give out.
Charge, $400 or nothing.
_E._ Has been in bad health for some time, and thinks a
trip across the mountains would do him good. Please give
him some information about the road and manner of living.
How about lodgings and fare? Is troubled with the
bronchitis, and wishes to know how the climate would be
likely to affect it.
_Ans._ Hire a mule at Placerville, and if you are not too
far gone the trip may benefit your bronchial tubes. The
road is five feet deep by 130 miles long, and is composed
chiefly of mountains, snow, and mud. Lodgings--from one to
two hundred lodgers in each room, and from two to four
bedfellows in each bed. Will not be troubled long with the
bronchitis. The water will probably make an end of you in
about two weeks. Charge--nothing.
_F._ Is a lawyer by profession, and desires to establish a
business in some new country. Thinks there will be some
litigation at Washoe in connection with the mines. Wishes
to be informed on that point, and would be obliged for any
general information.
_Ans._ About every tenth man in Washoe is a lawyer. There
will doubtless be abundance of litigation there before
long. Would advise you to go to some other new country,
say Pike's Peak, for instance. Respecting things
generally, Miller and Rodgers are going up and whisky
down. Charge, 50 cents. Please remit.
_G._ Thinks of taking his family over to Washoe. How are
the accommodations for women and children? And can
servants be had?
_Ans._ Keep on thinking about that or something else, but
don't attempt to carry your thoughts into effect. If you
do, your wife must wear the--excuse me--she must wear male
apparel. For accommodations, yourself and family might
possibly be able to hire one bunk two feet by six; and you
might seduce a Digger Indian to remain in your domestic
employ by giving him $2 in cash and a gallon of whisky per
day. Charge--nothing.
_H._ Has a house and lot worth about $10,000. Would like
to trade it for some good mining claims. Can not sell the
property for cash on account of a difficulty about the
title; but this you need not mention, as it can probably
be adjusted for a reasonable consideration.
_Ans._ Have traded your house and lot for 100 feet in the
Pine Nut, 50 do. in the Ousel Owl, 50 do. in the Salmon
Tail, 25 in the Roaring Jack, and 25 in the Amador. These
are all good claims, and it will make no difference about
the title to your house and lot, as each claim in the
above-mentioned companies has also several titles to it.
Charge, $500. Please remit.
_I._ Is in the stove business, and understands that
cast-iron stoves bring a high price in Washoe. Has some
notion of sending over a consignment. Please state
expenses and prospect of success.
_Ans._ Stoves are very valuable in Washoe, especially
cooking-stoves. It costs from 25 to 50 cents per pound to
get them over on mule-back, at which prices they can be
sold for claims, but not for money. If you have any very
young stoves that can be planted, as the Schildbergers
planted the salt, a good crop of them can be sold.
Charge--nothing.
_J._ Is inventor of a process for extracting silver out of
the crude ore without smelting. The machinery is simple,
and would easily bear transportation. Could the patent
right be sold in Washoe?
_Ans._ Nothing is more needed here than just such an
invention as yours. Bring it over by all means. If you can
extract silver out of the general average of the ore found
here, either by smelting or otherwise, you will do a
splendid business. Charge, $50. Please remit.
_K._ Understands that lumber is $300 a thousand in
Virginia City. Can be delivered at the wharf in San
Francisco from the Mendocino Mills for about $20 a
thousand. Would it be practicable to get any quantity of
it over, so as to make the speculation profitable?
_Ans._ You are correctly informed as to the value of
lumber in Washoe. A balloon might be constructed to carry
over a small lot; but, in case you found that mode of
transportation too expensive, I know of no other way than
to remove a portion of the Sierra Nevada Mountains in the
rear of Placerville, or run a tunnel through underneath.
It is possible that the price of labor might be an
obstacle to the success of either of these plans, in which
event, if you can contract to put one board on the back of
each man leaving San Francisco, he may be able to earn his
board, and you may be able to get your lumber over cheap.
Charge, $25. Please remit.
I have thus given an average specimen of the letters that came pouring
in upon me by every mail. It kept me busy, as may well be supposed, to
attend to the numerous requests made by my correspondents; but the
trouble was, no money came. There was a great deal, to be sure, for
future collection, and as long as that was due it could not be lost by
any injudicious speculation. It was some consolation, therefore, to
reflect upon the large amount of capital that had accrued in the various
operations of the Agency.
At this crisis, when fortune had fairly begun to smile, the weather
changed again, and for days it stormed and snowed incessantly, covering
up the whole valley, and blocking up every trail. A relapse of
rheumatism and my poison-malady now seized me with renewed virulence. I
had scarcely any rest by night or day, and soon saw that to remain would
be a sure way of securing a claim to at least six feet of ground in the
vicinity of Carson. The extraordinary number of persons who had invested
in silver mines, and who were anxious to sell out in San Francisco,
suggested the idea of changing my Agency to that locality. I therefore
notified the public that there was a rare opportunity of selling out
their claims to the best advantage, and it was not long before I was
freighted down with "indications," powers of attorney, deeds, and bills
of sale.
CHAPTER VIII.
START FOR HOME.
As soon as the weather permitted I set forth on my journey homeward,
taking the stage to Genoa, in the hope of finding a horse or mule there
upon which to cross the mountains. It was doubtful whether the trail was
yet open; but a thaw had set in, and the prospect was that it would be
practicable to get over in a few days. The stage from Genoa to
Woodford's had been discontinued, in consequence of the expense of
feeding the horses. All the saddle trains had left before the late snow,
and there was not an animal of any kind to be had except by purchase--an
alternation for which I was not prepared.
In this unfortunate state of affairs there was nothing left but to try
it again on foot. It was with great difficulty that I could walk at all,
much less carry my blankets and the additional weight of a heavy bundle
of "croppings." The prospect of remaining at Genoa, however, was too
gloomy to be thought of. So I sold my blankets for a night's lodging,
and set out the next morning for Woodford's. By dint of labor and
perseverance I accomplished about eight miles that day. It was dark
night when I reached a small farm-house on the road-side. Here a worthy
couple lived, who gave me comfortable lodgings, and cooked up such a
luxurious repast of broiled chicken, toast, and tea, that I determined,
if practicable, to remain a day or two, in order to regain my strength
for the trip across the mountain.
[Illustration: RETURN FROM WASHOE.]
The kindness and hospitality of these excellent people had the desired
effect. In two days I was ready to proceed. Fortunately, an ox-wagon was
going to Woodford's for lumber, and I contracted with the driver, a
good-humored negro, to give me a lift there for the sum of fifty cents.
I had the pleasure of meeting several San Francisco friends on the road,
and gave them agreeable tidings of the mines. The trail had just been
opened. A perfect torrent of adventurers came pouring over, forming an
almost unbroken line all the way from Placerville. By this time the
spring was well advanced and the excitement was at its height. The news
from below was, that the whole state would soon be depopulated. Every
body was coming--women, children, and all. Of course I wished them luck,
but it was a marvel to me what they would do when they reached Washoe.
Already there were eight or ten thousand people there, and not one in
fifty had any thing to do, or could get employment for board and
lodging. Companies were leaving every day for More's Lake and Walker's
River, and the probability was that there would be considerable
distress, if not absolute suffering. But it was useless to talk. Every
adventurer must have a look at the diggings for himself. There must be
luck in store for him, if for nobody else. For my part, I had taken a
look and was satisfied.
The ox-team traveled very slowly, so that there was a good opportunity
of seeing people pass both ways. The difference in the expression of the
incoming and the outgoing was very remarkable, being about the
difference between a man with fifty dollars in his pocket and one who
wished to borrow that amount. There was that canny air of confidence
about the former which betokens the possession of some knowledge
touching the philosopher's stone not shared by mankind generally. About
the latter there was a mingled expression of sadness and sarcasm, as if
they were rather inclined to the opinion that some people had not yet
seen the elephant.
[Illustration: OUTGOING AND INCOMING.]
As my ox carriage crept along uneasily over the rocky road, I was hailed
from behind, "Hello dare! Sthop!" It was my friend the Jew again! I had
lost sight of him in Carson, and now, by some fatality, he was
destined to be my companion again.
"Mein Gott! I'm tired valking. Can't you give me a lift?" The driver was
willing provided I had no objection. Now I had freely forgiven this man
for the robbery of my stockings. I was not uncharitable enough to refuse
help to a tired wayfarer; yet I had a serious objection to his company
under existing circumstances. His boots were nearly worn out, and mine
had but recently been purchased in Carson. If this fellow could embezzle
my stockings and afterward unblushingly confess the act, what security
could I have on the journey for the safety of my boots? I knew if he
once started in with me he would never relinquish his claim to my
company until we reached Placerville; for the fellow was rather of a
sociable turn, and liked to talk. It seemed best, therefore, under all
circumstances, to have a distinct understanding at once. The treaty was
soon negotiated. On my part it was stipulated that Israel should ride to
Woodford's on the ox wagon provided he paid his own fare; that we should
cross the mountain together for mutual protection, provided he would
deposit in my hands his watch or a $10 gold piece as security for the
safety of my boots; and, finally, that he would bind himself by the most
solemn obligations of honor not to steal both the security and the
boots; to all of which the Jew assented with one of those internal
convulsions which betokened great satisfaction in the arrangement. The
watch was covered with pewter, as I discovered when he handed it to me;
but I had no doubt it was worth eight or ten dollars. Besides, the
treaty made no mention of the quality of the watch. It might possibly be
an excellent timepiece, and, at all events, seemed to be worth a pair of
boots.
Toward evening we arrived at Woodford's. Between two and three hundred
travelers from the other side of the mountain had already gotten in, and
it was represented that there was a line of pedestrians all the way
over to Strawberry. The rush for supper was tremendous. Not even the
famous Heenan and Sayers contest could compare with it, for here every
body went in--or at least tried to get in. At the sixth round I
succeeded in securing a favorable position, and when the battle
commenced was fortunate enough to be crushed into a seat.
In the way of sleeping there was a general spread-out up stairs. By
assuming a confidential tone with the proprietor I contrived to get a
mattress and a pair of blankets. The Jew slept alongside on his pack,
with a covering of loose coats. Nature's balmy restorer quickly put an
end to all the troubles of the day, notwithstanding the incessant noise
kept up throughout the night.
[Illustration: THE JEW'S BOOTS.]
In the morning I awoke much refreshed. It was about seven o'clock, and
time to start. I turned to arouse my friend Israel, but, to my surprise,
found that he had already taken his departure. A horrible suspicion
seized me. Had he also taken--Yes, of course; my boots were gone too!
And the security? The watch? I looked under my pillow. Miserable wretch!
he had also taken the watch. I might have known it! I was a fool for
trusting him. When I picked up the old pair of boots bequeathed to me
as a token of remembrance by this depraved man--when I held them up to
the light and examined them critically--when I reflected upon the
journey before me, it was enough to bring tears to the sternest human
eye.
No matter; I would catch the dastardly wretch on the trail. If ever I
laid hands upon him again, so help me--But what is the use of swearing.
No man ever caught another in this world with such a pair of boots on
his feet--and here I examined them again--never! One might as well
attempt to walk in a pair of condemned fire-buckets.
There was no help for it but to await some chance of getting over on
horseback. Fortunately, a saddle-train which had passed down to Genoa
during the previous day returned a little after daylight. For the sum of
$30, cash in advance, I secured an unoccupied horse--the poorest animal,
perhaps, ever ridden by mortal man. There is no good reason that I am
aware of why people engaged in the horse-business should always select
for my use the refuse of their stock; but such has invariably been their
practice. I have never yet been favored with a horse that was not lame,
halt, or blind, or otherwise physically afflicted.
I had not ridden more than a mile from Woodford's before I discovered
that the miserable hack upon which I was mounted traveled diagonally,
like a lugger beating against a head wind. His fore feet were well
enough--they traveled on the trail; but his hind feet were continually
undertaking to luff up a little to windward. When it is borne in mind
that the trail was over a bank of snow from eight to ten feet deep, and
not more than a foot wide, the inconvenience of that mode of locomotion
will at once be perceived. Every few hundred yards the hind feet got off
the trail, and went down with a sudden lurch that kept me in constant
apprehension of being buried alive in the snow. Another serious
difficulty was, that my horse, owing perhaps to the defect in his hind
legs, had no capacity for short turns, so that whenever the trail
suddenly diverged from its direct course, he invariably brought up
against a rock, stump, or bank of snow.
I appealed to the captain or commander of the train to give me a better
animal, but he assured me positively this was the very best in the whole
lot, and that I would find him peculiarly adapted to mountain travel,
where it was often an advantage for an animal to hold on to an upper
trail with his fore feet while his hind ones were searching for another
down below. In short, on this account solely he had named him
"Guyascutas."
As there seemed to be no way of impressing the captain with a different
opinion of the merits of Guyascutas, I was obliged to make the best of a
bad bargain, and jog on as fast as spurs, blows, and entreaties could
effect that result.
In reference to the Jew, whom I expected to overtake, and for whom I
kept a sharp look-out, it may be as well to state at once that I never
again put eyes on him. Whether he secreted himself behind some tree or
rock till the saddle-train passed, or, overcome by remorse for the
dastardly act he had committed, cast himself headlong over some
precipice, I have never been able to ascertain. He is a miserable wretch
at best. In view of the future, I would not for all the wealth of the
Rothschilds stand in his--Well, yes, for that much money I might stand
in his boots, provided no others were to be had; but I should regret
extremely to be guilty of such an act toward any fellow-traveler as he
had committed.
It was four o'clock when we got under way from the Lake House. A
mule-driver from the other side of the divide had cautioned us against
starting. There had been several snow-slides during the day, and it was
only a few hours since the trail had been cut through. A large train of
mules heavily laden must now be on the way down the Grade, and fifteen
other trains had left Strawberry since noon.
[Illustration: SNOW SLIDE.]
Those who have passed over the "Grade" can best appreciate our position.
Two of our horses had already died of starvation and hard usage. There
was no barley or feed of any kind to be had at the Lake House. The snow
was rapidly melting, and avalanches might be expected at any moment.
Only a day or two ago one of these fearful slides had occurred, sweeping
all before it. Two mules and a horse were carried over the precipice and
dashed to atoms, and the driver had barely escaped with his life.
It was considered perilous to stop on any part of the Grade. The trail
was not over a foot wide, being heavily banked up on each side by the
accumulated snow. Passing a pack train was very much like running a
muck. The Spanish mules are so well aware of their privileges when
laden, that they push on in defiance of all obstacles, often oversetting
the unwary traveler by main force. I was struck with a barrel of whisky
in one of the narrow passes some time previously and knocked nearly
senseless, so that I had good cause to remember their prowess.
It was put to the vote whether we should make the attempt or remain, and
finally, after much discussion, referred to our captain. He was
evidently determined to go on at all hazards, having a stronger interest
in the lives of his horses than any of the party.
At the word of command we mounted and put spurs to our jaded animals.
"Now, boys," said the captain, "keep together. Your lives depend upon
it! Watch out for the pack trains, and when you see them coming hang on
to a wide place! Don't come in contact with the pack-mules, or you'll go
over the Grade certain."
There was no need of caution. Every nerve was strained to make the
summit as soon as possible. It should be mentioned that the "Grade" is
the Placerville state road, cut in the eastern slope of the Sierra
Nevadas, and winding upward around each rib of the mountain for a
distance of two miles. It was now washed away in many places by the
melting of the snow, and some of the bridges across the ravines were in
a very bad condition. From the first main elevation there is still
another rise of two or three miles to the top of the divide, but this
part is open and the ascent is comparatively easy. In meeting the pack
trains the only hope of safety is to make for a point where the road
widens. These places of security occur only three or four times in the
entire ascent of the Grade. To be caught between them on a stubborn or
unruly horse is almost certain destruction at this season of the year.
The only alternative is to dismount with all speed, wheel your horse
round, and, if possible, get back to some place of security.
In about half an hour we made a point of rocks where the trail was bare.
Our captain gave the order to dismount, and proceeded a short distance
ahead to reconnoitre. The whole space occupied by our twelve horses and
riders was not over six or eight feet wide by about thirty in length.
Should any of the animals become stampeded, they were bound to go over.
The tracks of several which had recently been pushed over the precipice
by the pack trains were still visible. Our captain returned presently
with news that a train was in sight. Soon we heard the tinkling of the
bell attached to the leader, and then the clattering of the hoofs as the
mules descended with their heavy burdens. One by one they passed.
Whisky, gin, and brandy again! Barrels, half barrels, and kegs! The
vaqueros made the cliffs resound with their Carambas and Carajas, their
Dona Marias and Santa Sofias! a language apparently well understood by
the mules. This was a train of forty mules, all laden with liquors for
the thirsty miners. The vaqueros reported another train within half a
mile of twenty-five mules, and others on the Grade.
[Illustration: THE GRADE.]
After another train had passed, our captain gave the word to mount and
"cut for our lives!" Scarcely five seconds elapsed before we were all
off, dashing helter-skelter up the trail. The horses plunged and
stumbled over the rocks, slush, and mud in a manner truly pitiable for
them and dangerous for us. In some places the mules had cut through for
hundreds of yards, and the trail was perfectly honey-combed. But there
was no time for humanity. Dashing the spurs into the bleeding sides of
our animals, we pushed on as if all the evil powers of Virginia City
were after us.
"Go it, boys!" our captain shouted; "neck or nothing! I see the train!
Two hundred yards more and we're all safe! Caraja! Here's another train
right on us!"
It was a palpable truth. The pack-mules came lumbering down around a
point not fifty yards from us.
"Dismount all! Wheel! and cut back for your lives!" This was the order.
In a moment we were all plunging frantically in the snow. Some of the
horses were stampeded, and one man had gotten his riata around his leg.
The mules had also commenced a stampede, when, by dint of shouting,
plunging, and struggling, we got clear of them, and went tearing down
the trail to our old station. The train soon passed us. Whisky again, of
course. "How many trains more, senor?" to the vaquero. "Carambo! muchos!
muchos!" and on he went laughing. This was hard. We could not stand here
much longer, for the tremendous bank of snow above us began to show
indications of breaking away. Two trains more passed in rapid
succession, and then our captain rode ahead again to reconnoitre. It was
growing dusk. The prospect was any thing but cheering. At a given signal
we mounted once more. Now commenced a terrible race. Heads, necks, legs,
or horse-flesh were as nothing in the desperate struggle to reach the
next point. This time we were in luck. The haven was attained just soon
enough to avoid a train of forty mules. From the vaquero we learned that
another was still on the Grade. We might be able to pass it, however,
half a mile farther on. At the word of command we again mounted, and
put spurs to our jaded animals. It was not long before we heard the
tinkling of a bell. Now for it! halt! The mules were on us before we
could turn; and here commenced a scene which baffles all description.
Some of us were overturned, horses and all, in the banks of snow. Others
sprang from their horses and let them struggle on their own account. All
had to break a way out of the trail. The mules were stampeded, and
kicked, brayed, and rolled by turns. The vaqueros were in a perfect
frenzy of rage and terror combined--shrieking Maladetto! Carambo! and
Caraja! till it seemed as if the reverberation must break loose the snow
from above, and send an avalanche down on top of us all. Bridles got
foul of stray legs and jerked the owners on their backs; riatas were
twisted and wound around horses, mules, and whisky-barrels; packs went
rolling hither and thither; men and animals kicked for their bare lives;
heads, legs, and bodies were covered up in snow-drifts; and nobody knew
what every body else was doing, or what he was doing himself. In short,
the scene was altogether very lively, and would have been amusing had it
not been intensified by the imminent risk of slipping over the
precipice. It was at least a thousand feet down into Lake Valley, and a
man might just as well be kicked on the head by twelve frantic horses
and twenty-five vicious mules as undertake a trip down there by the
short cut.
All troubles must end. Ours ended when the animals gave out for want of
breath. Upon picking up our scattered regiment, with all arms and
equipments used in the melee, we found the result as follows: Dead,
none; wounded by kicks, scratches, sprains, and bruises, six; mortally
frightened, the whole party, inclusive of our captain; lost, a keg of
whisky, which some say went down to Lake Valley; but I have my
suspicions where that keg went, and how it was secreted.
From this point over the summit we met several more pack trains, and
had an occasional tumble in the snow. Nothing more serious occurred. It
was quite dark as we commenced our descent. The road here was a running
stream of mud, obstructed by slippery rocks, ruts, stumps, and dead
animals. It was a marvel to me how we ever reached the bottom without
broken bones. My horse stumbled about every hundred yards, but never
fell more than three quarters down. Somehow people rarely get killed in
this country, unless shot by revolvers or bad whisky.
CHAPTER IX.
ARRIVAL IN SAN FRANCISCO.
The crowds were thicker than ever at Strawberry. From all accounts the
excitement had only just commenced. Five thousand were represented to be
on the road from the various diggings throughout California. I had
bargained for a bed, and was enjoying the idea of a good supper--the
savory odor of which came through the cracks of the bar-room door--when
our captain announced that he could get no feed for his animals, and we
must ride on to "Dick's," fourteen miles more. This was pretty tough on
a sick man. The ride since morning had been quite hard enough to try the
strength and temper of a well man; but add fourteen miles to that, of a
dark night and raining into the bargain, and the sum total is not
agreeable. It was useless to remonstrate. The captain was inflexible. He
could not see his horses starve. One was just giving his last kick, and
three more were about to "go in." I might stay if I pleased, suggested
the captain, but the horses must go on. As I had paid thirty dollars for
the ride, and had barely enough left to get to San Francisco, there was
no alternative but to mount. By this time three of the party were so ill
as to be scarcely able to sit in their saddles.
It is wonderful how much one can endure when there is nobody at hand to
care a pin whether he lives or dies. I rather incline to the opinion
that many people in this world die from the kindness and sympathy of
friends, who, if thrown upon their own resources, would weather it out.
I have an impressive recollection of the fourteen miles from Strawberry
to "Dick's." My horse, Guyascutas, broke down about half way. The rest
of the party pushed on. About the same time the old torture of
rheumatism and neuralgia assailed me in full force. It was pitch dark.
There was no stopping-place nearer than "Dick's." The weather was cold,
and a drenching rain had now penetrated my clothes to the skin.
A distinct recollection of my feelings a month ago, as I tramped along
over this road with my pack on my back, afforded me ample material for
philosophical reflection. Was it now somebody else--some decrepit old
fogy who had lost his all, and had nothing more to expect in this world?
Or could it possibly be the glowing enthusiast, just freed from the
trammels of office, and inspired by visions of mountain life, liberty,
and wealth? If it was the same--and there could hardly be any mistake
about it, unless some mysterious translation of the spirit into some
other body had taken place at Virginia Creek--the visions of mountain
life, liberty, and unbounded riches were certainly of a very different
character.
In addition to the peculiarity in the hind-quarters of Guyascutas, which
caused him always to make two trails at the same time, I had now reason
to suspect that he was entirely blind of one eye, and afflicted with a
cataract on the other. Every hundred yards or so he walked off the road,
and brought up in some deep cavity or against a pile of rocks. The mud
in many places was up to his haunches, and if there was a comparatively
dry spot any where in existence, he was sure to avoid it. I think he
disliked me on account of the spurring I gave him on the Grade, and
wanted to get rid of me in some way; or perhaps he considered his own
course of life beyond farther endurance.
The result of all the stumbling, and running into deep pits, banks of
rock, and mud-holes was, that I had to get down and walk the remainder
of the way. If a conviction had not taken possession of my mind that the
captain would compel me to pay for the horse in the event of failure to
produce him, I would cheerfully have left him to his fate and proceeded
alone; but, under the circumstances, I thought it best to lead him. At
last the welcome lights hove in sight. It was not long before I was
snugly housed at Dick's, where a good cup of tea brought life and hope
back again. This, I may safely say, was my hardest day's experience of
travel in any country.
Next day poor Guyascutas was so far gone on his long journey that I had
to leave him at a stable on the road-side, and proceed on foot. By night
I was within six miles of Placerville. Here I overtook a
fellow-traveler, and bargained with him for his horse. From Placerville,
by stage to Sacramento, the journey is devoid of interest. I arrived at
San Francisco in due time, a little the worse for the wear, but still
equal to any new emergency that might arise.
The citizens of San Francisco were on the _qui vive_ for news from
Washoe. Almost every man with a dollar to spare, and many who had
nothing to spare, had invested, to a greater or less extent, in
claims--from thousands of feet down to a few inches. Conflicting
accounts had recently come down. The public mind was in a state of
feverish excitement. Was Washoe a humbug, or was it not? Was there
silver there, or was it all sham? What was the Ophir worth at this time?
How about the Billy Choller and the Miller? These were but a few of the
questions asked me on Montgomery Street. It required an hour to walk
fifty yards, so great was the pressure for news. Could I tell any thing
about the Winnemuck, or the Pine Nut, or the Rogers? Did I happen to
know what the Wake-up-Jake was worth in Washoe? What about the Lady
Bryant--was it true that it had gone down? Whereabouts was the Jim Crack
located, and what was Dead Broke worth? In short, I looked over more
deeds, and answered more questions of a varied and indefinite nature, in
the brief space of three days, than had ever been put to and answered by
any one man before.
[Illustration: RETURN TO SAN FRANCISCO.]
The editor of the _Bulletin_, who had made a flying visit to Washoe, and
in whose company I had traveled down from Placerville, commenced about
this time a series of articles, in which he told some startling truths.
Base metal had been found in the Comstock; to what extent it prevailed
nobody could tell. If the Comstock should prove to be worthless, what
hope was there for the "outside claims."
The news spread like wild-fire. A panic seized upon the multitudes whose
funds were invested in Washoe. Men hurried about the streets in search
of purchasers of Washoe stock; but purchasers were nowhere to be found.
Every body wanted to sell. The Comstock suddenly fell from one thousand
down to five dollars per foot, and no sales at that. Miller went down
fifty per cent.; and the Great Outside could scarcely be given away at
any price! Alas! had it come to this? The gigantic Washoe speculation
"gone in," and none so poor to do it reverence!
Softly! A word in your ear, reader! They are only "bucking it down" for
purposes of speculation. The keen men who know a thing or two are buying
up secretly. The silver is there, and it must come out. All this cry
about base metal is "a dodge" to frighten the timid. If you have claims,
hold on to them; they will be up again presently.
For my part, I thought it best to leave San Francisco before my
correspondents--for whom, it will be remembered, I had executed some
business in Washoe--retracted their good opinion of my sagacity. There
was no chance at this crisis to sell the various claims with which I
had been commissioned at Carson City. Capitalists were short of funds.
The money-market was laboring under a depression. The liver of the body
politic was in a state of collapse. I went to the principal bankers, but
failed to accomplish any thing. They even refused to lend money on
unquestionable security.
In view of all the circumstances, I determined to visit Europe. If the
moneyed men of the Old World could only be satisfied of the extent,
variety, and magnificence of the investments to be made in the New, they
would not hesitate to open negotiations with an agent direct from
Washoe.
Frankfort-on-the-Main, January, 1861.
You will perceive from my address, most esteemed reader, that I am now
established at one of the best points for pecuniary transactions on the
Continent of Europe. I have seen many of the wealthy burghers of
Frankfort, and am pleased to say that they manifest a very friendly
disposition. As yet they do not quite understand the nature of the
proposed securities, but I have great confidence in their sagacity. My
negotiations with the Rothschilds have been of the most amicable
character. They have gone so far as to express the opinion that Washoe
must be a remarkable country; and yesterday, when I proposed to sell
them fifty feet in the Gone Case, and forty in the Roaring Grizzly, for
the sum of one hundred thousand florins, they smiled so politely, and
withal looked so completely puzzled, that I considered it best not to
force an immediate answer. You are aware, of course, that in important
negotiations of this kind it is judicious to let the opposite party
sleep a night or two over your proposition. That the Rothschilds are at
present a little wary of any investment in Washoe is quite natural. The
nomenclature is new to them. They have never before heard of Roaring
Grizzly and Gone Case silver mines. But if that should prove to be their
only objection, I have no doubt they will ultimately purchase to the
extent of several millions. If they do, I shall be happy to negotiate
further sales for a reasonable commission, to be paid strictly in
advance. My publishers will, I am confident, forward any letter to my
address.
[Illustration: READING EXTRA BULLETIN.]
THE END.