More American Business Methods—Trip to Corpus Christi—Trouble at the
Mine—West Texas as a Health Resort—Expenses of the Simple Life.
I mentioned some of the lawless and extraordinary things done in
American business. When I was in California an oil company was building
a pipe line to carry their product to market. Whenever they could they
bought the right of way over private lands that they had to cross, but
whenever they could not buy at a price satisfactory to them, they simply
surprised the owner by building over his land at night, and let him wake
up in the morning to find the line an accomplished fact. Then it was up
to him either to fight a long-drawn-out suit (during which the company
would be pumping oil over his land) or to give in gracefully and take
what he could get. One old farmer, however, hired armed guards to watch
his land, and the pipe line company, after first trying to intimidate
his men and then to trick them, finally gave it up in disgust and paid
him his price, besides what he had expended on his guards.
The price of refined asphalt taking a big drop, owing to the successful
refining of asphalt from crude oil in California, the refinery at Cline
was shut down, and the pit and crushers only were worked, to get out
material for street paving. All American help was dispensed with, and
the only white men left on the place were the pit-foreman, the
book-keeper, and myself. The book-keeper I had was the same young
English friend who had gone into the mining deal with me in Canada in
1894, when we lost our mine and our money. He had subsequently lost
every penny that remained to him in one deal after another, and he wrote
me from New York that he was broke. As I was under many obligations to
him I sent him the funds, and he came to Cline and took charge of the
office work. He seemed just as happy without a cent as he had been
before with plenty, and I never heard him utter a single complaint about
his lost fortune: he had real grit. Just before his arrival I had
obtained three weeks’ leave to go on a fishing trip, and I was to leave
the pit-foreman in charge. I took my wife and boys to Corpus Christi,
south of San Antonio on the Mexican Gulf, intending to leave them there
for a few months’ change of air. I had some misgivings about leaving the
pit-foreman in charge, as he was a “periodical” drunkard; and as I had
liquor in my house I locked it up before leaving, and gave the key to
the Mexican store-clerk, with instructions to give it to no one except
on a written order from me. I had been at Corpus Christi only three days
when I got a wire from the general manager, “Return immediately.” When I
met him in San Antonio he told me that he had received a wire from the
store-clerk, “Had bad accident, foreman drunk,” and as he was too busy
to go out to the mines himself he had wired for me.
The store-clerk met me at the station with a conveyance, and told me the
pit-boss was armed and crazy drunk and had every one terrorised, also
that there had been an accident in the pit in which a man was nearly
killed. I met the pit-boss on the steps of the manager’s house, and he
wanted to know what I had come back for. I noticed that he had the
company’s 45 Colt buckled on him, the gun that was supposed to lie on my
desk in the office. This I proceeded to take from him, and then went
over to my house. It turned out that one of the men (disobeying strict
orders), while unloading a “missed shot,” started to dig out the
dynamite with his iron spoon, instead of loading on top of it and so
discharging the shot. When the spoon reached the cap it exploded, the
charge tearing off one of his arms at the elbow and the other at the
wrist. They had sent him into town in the hack, and wired for a doctor
to meet him on the road. After attending to this the pit-foreman’s nerve
failed him, and he asked the storekeeper for the key of my house, so
that he could get a drink, as he felt sick. He had found out about the
liquor by the storekeeper running up to my house for a drink for the
injured man. Having once started he went at it in good shape, for in
four days he consumed a bottle of whisky and three gallons of
Californian wine, besides about three dozen pint bottles of beer. The
men in the pit got scared and refused to go to work, as there was a
rumour that there were some more shots that might go off. This so
enraged the foreman that he went to the office, got a Colt’s 45, and
going down to the pit threatened to kill any man who did not go back to
work at once. In his frenzied state they were more afraid of him than
they were of any possible explosion, so they went back in a hurry.
It took me some days to get things working smoothly again, and in the
meantime the pit-foreman sobered up. One rainy night I had occasion to
go over to the Mexican quarters to see one of the men I needed for the
morrow. On my way over I saw a flash of light in the second storey of
the extractor house, which went out so quickly that I thought I must
have been mistaken. Still, I went over and climbed the staircase
quietly, as I could hear a low murmur of voices, and wanted to catch
them unawares if there was any “monkey work” going on. When I got
inside, without their hearing me, I struck a match and found about
twenty Mexicans, men, women, and children, camped up there, and, what
was worse, smoking cigarettes. It had been the flash of a match I saw.
There was a wild scramble, but I rounded them all up, and then they told
me in the most artless way that the roofs of their houses leaked and so
they had moved up there; utterly ignoring the fact that they were
smoking in a building in which were stored 16,000 gallons of naphtha,
and about 50 tons of excelsior (a sort of wood shavings) with which they
had made themselves beds. This is the sort of recklessness with which
one has to cope when employing Mexicans. To show how inflammable and
explosive this “63” naphtha is, I will mention what I saw once. We had
been emptying all the extractors of rock out of which the naphtha had
not been properly distilled. We had taken out about seventy-five tons
and run it out on the dump pile in cars. While unloading a car one of
the men, who had a pair of O.K. shoes (miner’s shoes with the soles
studded with nails), jumped down the pile to get a hoe that he had
dropped. There was a puff and the whole pile was on fire; he had struck
a spark with his shoe. He looked for a minute like an understudy for the
devil in “Faust,” then beating the world’s record for high and long
jumps he was out with nothing worse than a singed whisker and a
wholesome respect for naphtha.
West Texas is noted as a health resort for consumptives as the air is so
dry, and I myself have seen some wonderful cures. One young fellow I saw
helped off the train, who I thought could not live over a week or two,
was, within a year, one of the best cow-punchers in the county, and
could stay all day in the saddle without trouble. His case was one of
perhaps fifty that I have personally known. The idea seems to be to buy
a camp wagon and a couple of horses, a gun, a rifle, and fishing tackle,
and go wandering round the country hunting and fishing and leading the
simple life. The initial expense for a first-class outfit would not be
over £50, and after that you can live for £3 to £4 per month, provided
you cook for yourself. If, however, from weakness or lack of knowledge
one cannot do for oneself, a man can be hired to go along, and the
expense account would not pass £15, including his wages and keep. This
of course does not include any luxuries, it only allows of the absolute
necessaries, such as flour, bacon, salt, sugar, coffee, lard, canned
milk, dried apples, and rice. Meat, fish, &c., your gun and rod supply.
I and a friend once lived for three weeks, and lived well, on £1 worth
of provisions. As I have before said, the country is well stocked with
game, and there are fish for the catching. Lots of young fellows with
weak lungs and small capital, who cannot afford to loaf, buy a few
stands of bees and make a decent living, while getting well. The work is
light and keeps one out of doors, as most of these bee-men live in
tents. £100 will buy one hundred stands of bees, the profit of which is
sufficient to keep a man in food and necessaries. It is a solitary sort
of life, but if a man has sporting instincts and a longing to get well
he can stand it for a year or so, by which time he is fit for harder
work. The heat is great in summer, but, being very dry, does not affect
one’s health, and the springs, falls, and winters are delightful, all
except the “Northers,” of which I shall have more to say.