BLACK HAT was, in 1851, about as peaceful and well-regulated a village
as could be found in the United States.
It was not on the road to any place, so it grew but little; the dirt
paid steadily and well, so but few of the original settlers went away.
The march of civilization, with its churches and circuses, had not yet
reached Black Hat; marriages never convulsed the settlement with the pet
excitement of villages generally, and the inhabitants were never arrayed
at swords’ point by either religion, politics or newspapers.
To be sure, the boys gambled every evening and all day Sunday; but a
famous player, who once passed that way on a prospecting-trip, declared
that even a preacher would get sick of such playing; for, as everybody
knew everybody else’s game, and as all men who played other than
squarely had long since been required to leave, there was an utter
absence of pistols at the tables.
Occasional disagreements took place, to be sure—they have been taking
place, even among the best people, since the days of Cain and Abel; but
all difficulties at Black Hat which did not succumb to force of jaw were
quietly locked in the bosoms of the disputants until the first Sunday.
Sunday, at Black Hat, orthodoxically commenced at sunset on Saturday,
and was piously extended through to working-time on Monday morning, and
during this period of thirty-six hours there was submitted to
arbitrament, by knife or pistol, all unfinished rows of the week.
On Sunday was also performed all of the hard drinking at Black Hat; but
through the week the inhabitants worked as steadily and lived as
peacefully as if surrounded by church-steeples, court-houses and jails.
Whether owing to the inevitable visitations of the great disturber of
affairs in the Garden of Eden, or only in the due course of that
developement which affects communities as well as species, we know not,
but certain it is that suddenly the city fathers at Black Hat began to
wear thoughtful faces and wrinkled brows, to indulge in unusual periods
of silence, and to drink and smoke as if these consoling occupations
were pursued more as matters of habit than of enjoyment.
The prime cause of the uneasiness of these good men was a red-faced,
red-haired, red-whiskered fellow, who had been nicknamed “Captain,” on
account of the military cut of the whiskers mentioned above.
The captain was quite a good fellow; but he was suffering severely from
“the last infirmity of noble minds”—ambition.
He had gone West to make a reputation, and so openly did he work for it
that no one doubted his object; and so untiring and convincing was he,
that, in two short weeks, he had persuaded the weaker of the brethren at
Black Hat that things in general were considerably out of joint. And as
a little leaven leaveneth the whole lump, every man at Black Hat was
soon discussing the captain’s criticisms, and was neglecting the more
peaceable matters of cards and drink, which had previously occupied
their leisure hours.
The captain was always fully charged with opinions on every subject, and
his eloquent voice was heard at length on even the smallest matter that
interested the camp. One day a disloyal miner remarked:
“Captain’s jaw is a reg’lar air-trigger; reckon he’ll run the camp when
Whitey leaves.”
Straightway a devout respecter of the “powers that be” carried the
remark to Whitey, the chief of the camp.
Now, it happened that Whitey, an immense but very peaceable and sensible
fellow, had just been discussing with some of his adherents the probable
designs of the captain, and this new report seemed to arrive just in
time, for Whitey instantly said:
“Thar he goes agin, d’ye see, pokin’ his shovel in all aroun’. Now, ef
the boys want me to leave, they kin say so, an’ I’ll go. ‘Tain’t the
easiest claim in the world to work, runnin’ this camp ain’t, an’ I’ll
never hanker to be chief nowhar else; but seein’ I’ve stuck to the boys,
an’ seen ’em through from the fust, ’twouldn’t be exactly gent’emanly,
‘pears to me.”
And for a moment Whitey hid his emotions in a tin cup, from which
escaped perfumes suggesting the rye-fields of Kentucky.
“Nobody wants you to go, Whitey,” said Wolverine, one of the chief’s
most faithful supporters. “Didn’t yer kick that New Hampshire feller out
of camp when he kept a-sayin’ the saloon wuz the gate o’ hell?”
“Well,” said the chief, with a flush of modest pride, “I don’t deny it;
but _I_ won’t remind the boys of it, ef they’ve forgot it.”
“An’ didn’t yer go to work,” said another, “when all the fellers was
a-askin’ what was to be done with them Chinesers—didn’t yer just order
the boys to clean ’em out to wunst?”
“That ain’t the best thing yer dun, neither!” exclaimed a third. “I
wonder does any of them galoots forgit how the saloon got a-fire when
ev’rybody was asleep—how the chief turned out the camp, and after the
barkeeper got out the door, how the chief rushed in an’ rolled out all
three of the barrels, and then went dead-bent fur the river with his
clothes all a-blazin’? Whar’d we hev been for a couple of weeks ef it
hadn’t bin fur them bar’ls?”
The remembrance of this gallant act so affected Wolverine, that he
exclaimed:
“Whitey, we’ll stick to yer like tar-an’-feather, an’ ef cap’n an’ his
friends git troublesome we’ll jes’ show ’em the trail, an’ seggest
they’re big enough to git up a concern uv their own, instid of tryin’ to
steal somebody else’s.”
The chief felt that he was still dear to the hearts of his subjects, and
so many took pains that day to renew their allegiance that he grew
magnanimous—in fact, when the chief that evening invited the boys to
drink, he pushed his own particular bottle to the captain—an attention
as delicate as that displayed by a clergyman when he invites into his
pulpit the minister of a different creed.
Still the captain labored. So often did the latter stand treat that the
barkeeper suddenly ran short of liquor, and was compelled, for a week,
to restrict general treats to three per diem until he could lay in a
fresh stock.
The captain could hit corks and half-dollars in the air almost every
time, but no opportunity occurred in which he could exercise his
marksmanship for the benefit of the camp.
He also told any number of good stories, at which the boys, Whitey
included, laughed heartily; he sang jolly songs, with a very fair tenor
voice, and all the boys joined in the chorus; and he played a banjo in
style, which always set the boys to capering as gracefully as a crowd of
bachelor bears.
But still Whitey remained in camp and in office, and the captain, who
was as humane as he was ambitious, had no idea of attempting to remove
the old chief by force.
On Monday night the whole camp retired early, and slept soundly. Monday
had at all times a very short evening at Black Hat, for the boys were
generally weary after the duties and excitements of Sunday; but on this
particular Monday a slide had threatened on the hillside, and the boys
had been hard at work cutting and carrying huge logs to make a break or
barricade.
So, soon after supper they took a drink or two, and sprinkled to their
several huts, and Black Hat was at peace,
There were no dogs or cats to make night hideous—no uneasy roosters to
be sounding alarm at unearthly hours—no horrible policemen thumping the
sidewalks with clubs—no fashionable or dissipated people rattling about
in carriages. Excepting an occasional cough, or sneeze, or over-loud
snore, the most perfect peace reigned at Black Hat.
[Illustration:
THEY FOUND HIM SENSELESS, AND CARRIED HIM TO THE SALOON, WHERE
THE CANDLES WERE ALREADY LIGHTED. ONE OF THE MINERS, WHO
HAD BEEN A DOCTOR, PROMPTLY EXAMINED HIS BRUISES.
]
Suddenly a low but heavy rumble, and a trembling of the ground, roused
every man in camp, and, rushing out of their huts, the miners saw a mass
of stones and earth had been loosened far up the hillside, and were
breaking over the barricade in one place, and coming down in a perfect
torrent.
They were fortunately moving toward the river on a line obstructed by no
houses, though the hut of old Miller, who was very sick, was close to
the rocky torrent.
But while they stared, a young pine-tree, perhaps a foot thick, which
had been torn loose by the rocks and brought down by them, suddenly
tumbled, root first, over a steep rock, a few feet in front of old
Miller’s door. The leverage exerted by the lower portion of the stem
threw the whole tree into a vertical position for an instant; then it
caught the wind, tottered, and finally fell directly on the front of old
Miller’s hut, crushing in the gable and a portion of the front door, and
threatening the hut and its unfortunate occupant with immediate
destruction.
A deep groan and many terrible oaths burst from the boys, and then, with
one impulse, they rushed to the tree and attempted to move it; but it
lay at an angle of about forty-five degrees from the horizontal, its
roots heavy with dirt, on the ground in front of the door, and its top
high in the air.
The boys could only lift the lower portion; but should they do so, then
the hut would be entirely crushed by the full weight of the tree.
There was no window through which they could get Miller out, and there
was no knowing how long the frail hut could resist the weight of the
tree.
Suddenly a well-known voice was heard shouting:
“Keep your head level, Miller, old chap—we’ll hev you out of that in no
time. Hurry up, somebody, and borrow the barkeeper’s ropes. While I’m
cuttin’, throw a rope over the top, and when she commences to go, haul
all together and suddenly, then ‘twill clear the hut.”
In an instant later the boys saw, by the bright moonlight, the captain,
bareheaded, barefooted, with open shirt, standing on the tree directly
over the crushed gable, and chopping with frantic rapidity.
“Hooray for cap’en!” shouted some one.
“Hooray!” replied the crowd, and a feeble “hooray” was heard from
between the logs of old Miller’s hut.
Two or three men came hurrying back with the ropes, and one of them was
dexterously thrown across a branch of the tree. Then the boys
distributed themselves along both ends of the rope.
“Easy!” screamed the captain. “Plenty of time. I’ll give the word. When
I say, ‘Now,’ pull quick and all together. I won’t be long.”
And big chips flew in undiminished quantity, while a commendatory murmur
ran along both lines of men, and Whitey, the chief, knelt with his lips
to one of the chinks of the hut, and assured old Miller that he was
perfectly safe.
“Now!” shrieked the captain, suddenly.
In his excitement, he stepped toward the top instead of the root of the
tree; in an instant the top of the tree was snatched from the hut, but
it tossed the unfortunate captain into the air as easily as a sling
tosses a stone.
Every one rushed to the spot where he had fallen. They found him
senseless, and carried him to the saloon, where the candles were already
lighted. One of the miners, who had been a doctor, promptly examined his
bruises, and exclaimed:
“He’s two or three broken ribs, that’s all. It’s a wonder he didn’t
break every bone in his body. He’ll be around all right inside of a
month.”
“Gentlemen,” said Whitey, “I resign. All in favor of the cap’en will
please say ‘I.’”
“I,” replied every one.
“I don’t put the noes,” continued Whitey, “because I’m a peaceable man,
and don’t want to hev to kick any man mean enough to vote no. Cap’en,
you’r boss of this camp, and I’m yourn obediently.”
The captain opened his eyes slowly, and replied:
“I’m much obliged, boys, but I won’t give Whitey the trouble. Doctor’s
mistaken—there’s someting broken inside, and I haven’t got many minutes
more to live.”
“Do yer best, cap’en,” said the barkeeper, encouragingly. “Promise me
you’ll stay alive, and I’ll go straight down to ’Frisco, and get you all
the champagne you can drink.”
“You’re very kind,” replied the captain, faintly; “but I’m sent for, and
I’ve got to go. I’ve left the East to make my mark, but I didn’t expect
to make it in real estate. Whitey, I was a fool for wanting to be chief
of Black Hat, and you’ve forgiven me like a gentleman and a Christian.
It’s getting dark—I’m thirsty—I’m going—gone!”
The doctor felt the captain’s wrist, and said:
“Fact, gentlemen, he’s panned his last dirt.”
“Do the honors, boys,” said the barkeeper, placing glasses along the
bar.
Each man filled his glass, and all looked at Whitey.
“Boys,” said Whitey, solemnly, “ef the cap’en hed struck a nugget, good
luck might hev spiled him; ef he’d been chief of Black Hat, or any other
place, he might hev got shot. But he’s made his mark, so nobody
begrudges him, an’ nobody can rub it out. So here’s to ‘the cap’en’s
mark, a dead sure thing.’ Bottoms up.”
The glasses were emptied in silence, and turned bottoms uppermost on the
bar.
The boys were slowly dispersing, when one, who was strongly suspected of
having been a Church-member, remarked:
“He was took of a sudden, so he shouldn’t be stuck up.”
Whitey turned to him, and replied, with some asperity:
“Young man, you’ll be lucky ef _you’re_ ever stuck up as high as the
captain.”
And all the boys understood what Whitey meant.
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