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 no indecorous sense. I
was simply about to ask where he lived, when, looking up the road, I
saw amidst 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 cañon 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.
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 mountainside 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,
everywhere, 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.
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.
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”; everybody 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
_reata_ 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 everybody’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.
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 everybody was a millionaire in silver claims. Nobody had
any credit, yet everybody 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
underground, and deeds and mortgages on top; silver, silver everywhere,
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.
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 hencoop! 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.
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.
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 bulldog 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 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. Amidst 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.”
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, tarantula 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 “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, everybody’s
spurs were running into everybody 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 after the pattern of a bunch of snakes.
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 “anything 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.”
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 bar-keepers 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.