TRAVELLING DOWN THE RIVER--MINING OPERATIONS--THE FLORIDA HOUSE--A
HURDY-GURDY PLAYER--“DEAD-BROKE”--WANDERING HABITS OF THE
MINERS--COIN--EXPRESS COMPANIES--SLATE-RANGE--A CAMP--A “PINE-LOG
CROSSING.”
I returned to Downieville the next day, and as the weather was now
getting rather cold and disagreeable, and I did not wish to be caught
quite so far up in the mountains by the rainy season, I began to make my
way down the river again to more accessible diggings.
On leaving, I took a trail which kept along the bank of the river for
some miles, before striking up to the mountain-ridge. Immediately below
the town the mountain was very steep and smooth, and round this wound
the trail, at the height of three or four hundred feet above the river.
It was a mere beaten path--so narrow that two men could not walk
abreast, while there was hardly a bush or a tree to interrupt one’s
progress in rolling down from the trail to the river.
When trains of pack-mules met at this place, they had the greatest
difficulty in passing. The “down train,” being of course unloaded, had
to give way to the other. The mules understood their own rights
perfectly well. Those loaded with cargo kept sturdily to the trail,
while the empty mules scrambled up the bank, where they stood still till
the others had passed. It not unfrequently happened, however, that a
loaded mule got crowded off the trail, and rolled down the hill. This
was always the last journey the poor mule ever performed. The cargo was
recovered more or less damaged, but the remnants of deceased mules on
the rocks down below remained as a warning to all future travellers. It
was only a few days before that a man was riding along here, when, from
some cause, his mule stumbled and fell off the trail. The mule, of
course, went as a small contribution to the collection of skeletons of
mules which had gone before him; and his rider would have shared the
same fate, had he not fortunately been arrested in his progress by a
bush, the only object in his course which could possibly have saved him.
The trail, after passing this spot, kept more among the rocks on the
river-side; and though it was rough travelling, the difficulties of the
way were beguiled by the numbers of miners’ camps through which one
passed, and in observing the different varieties of mining operations
being carried on. For miles the river was borne along in a succession of
flumes, in which were set innumerable water-wheels, for working all
sorts of pumps, and other contrivances for economising labour. The bed
of the river was alive with miners; and here and there, in the steep
banks, were rows of twenty or thirty tunnels, out of which came constant
streams of men, wheeling the dirt down to the river-side, to be washed
in their long-toms.
At Goodyear’s Bar, which is a place of some size, the trail leaves the
river, and ascends a mountain which is said to be the worst in that part
of the country, and for my part I was quite willing to believe it was. I
met several men coming down, who were all anxious to know if they were
near the bottom. I was equally desirous to know if I was near the top,
for the forest of pines was so thick, that, looking up, one could only
get a glimpse between the trees of the zigzag trail far above.
About half-way up the mountain, at a break in the ascent, I found a very
new log-cabin by the side of a little stream of water. It bore a sign
about as large as itself, on which was painted the “Florida House;” and
as it was getting dark, and the next house was five miles farther on, I
thought I would take up my quarters here for the night. The house was
kept by an Italian, or an “Eyetalian,” as he is called across the
Atlantic. He had a Yankee wife, with a lot of children, and the style of
accommodation was as good as one usually found in such places.
I was the only guest that night; and as we sat by the fire, smoking our
pipes after supper, my host, who was a cheerful sort of fellow, became
very communicative. He gave me an interesting account of his California
experiences, and also of his farming operations in the States, where he
had spent the last few years of his life. Then, going backwards in his
career, he told me that he had lived for some years in England and
Scotland, and spoke of many places there as if he knew them well. I was
rather curious to know in what capacity such an exceedingly
dingy-looking individual had visited all the cities of the kingdom, but
he seemed to wish to avoid cross examination on the subject, so I did
not press him. He became intimately connected in my mind, however, with
sundry plaster-of-Paris busts of Napoleon, the Duke of Wellington, Sir
Walter Scott, and other distinguished characters. I could fancy I saw
the whole collection of statuary on the top of his head, and felt very
much inclined to shout out “Images!” to see what effect it would have
upon him.
In the course of the evening he asked me if I would like to hear some
music, saying that he played a little on the Italian fiddle. I said I
would be delighted, particularly as I did not know the instrument. The
only national fiddle I had ever heard of was the Caledonian, and I
trusted this instrument of his was a different sort of thing; but I was
very much amused when it turned out to be nothing more or less than a
genuine orthodox hurdy-gurdy. It put me more in mind of home than
anything I had heard for a long time. At the first note, of course, the
statuary vanished, and was replaced by a vision of an unfortunate monkey
in a red coat, while my friend’s extensive travels in the United
Kingdom became very satisfactorily accounted for, and I thought it by no
means unlikely that this was not the first time I had heard the sweet
strains of his Italian fiddle. He played several of the standard old
tunes; but hurdy-gurdy music is of such a character that a little of it
goes a great way; and I was not sorry when a couple of strings
snapped--to the great disgust, however, of my friend, for he had no more
with which to replace them.
Hurdy-gurdy player or not, he was a very entertaining agreeable fellow.
I only hope all the fraternity are like him (perhaps they are, if one
only knew them), and attain ultimately to such a respectable position in
life, dignifying their instruments with the name of Italian fiddles, and
reserving them for the entertainment of their particular friends.
I was on my way to Slate Range, a place some distance down the river,
but the next day I only went as far as Oak Valley, travelling the last
few miles with a young fellow from one of the Southern States, whom I
overtook on the way. He had been mining, he told me, at Downieville, and
was now going to join some friends of his at a place some thirty miles
off.
At supper he did not make his appearance, which I did not observe, as
there were a number of men at table, till the landlord asked me if that
young fellow who arrived with me was not going to have any supper, and
suggested that perhaps he was “strapped,” “dead-broke”--_Anglicé_,
without a cent in his pocket. I had not inferred anything of the sort
from his conversation, but on going out and asking him why he did not
come to supper, he reluctantly admitted that the state of his finances
would not admit of it. I told him, in the language of Mr Toots, that it
was of no consequence, and made him come in, when he was most
unceremoniously lectured by the rest of the party, and by the landlord
particularly, on the absurdity of his intention of going supperless to
bed merely because he happened to be “dead-broke,” getting at the same
time some useful hints how to act under such circumstances in future
from several of the men present, who related how, when they had found
themselves in such a predicament, they had, on frankly stating the fact,
been made welcome to everything.
To be “dead-broke” was really, as far as a man’s immediate comfort was
concerned, a matter of less importance in the mines than in almost any
other place. There was no such thing as being out of employment, where
every man employed himself, and could always be sure of ample
remuneration for his day’s work. But notwithstanding the want of excuse
for being “strapped,” it was very common to find men in that condition.
There were everywhere numbers of lazy idle men, who were always without
a dollar; and others reduced themselves to that state by spending their
time and money on claims which, after all, yielded them no return, or
else gradually exhausted their funds in travelling about the country,
and prospecting, never satisfied with fair average diggings, but always
having the idea that better were to be found elsewhere. Few miners
located themselves permanently in any place, and there was a large
proportion of the population continually on the move. In almost every
place I visited in the mines, I met men whom I had seen in other
diggings. Some men I came across frequently, who seemed to do nothing
but wander about the country, satisfied with asking the miners in the
different diggings how they were “making out,” but without ever taking
the trouble to prospect for themselves.
Coin was very scarce, what there was being nearly all absorbed by the
gamblers, who required it for convenience in carrying on their business.
Ordinary payments were made in gold dust, every store being provided
with a pair of gold scales, in which the miner weighed out sufficient
dust from his buckskin purse to pay for his purchases.
In general trading, gold dust was taken at sixteen dollars the ounce;
but in the towns and villages, at the agencies of the various San
Francisco bankers and Express Companies, it was bought at a higher
price, according to the quality of the dust, and as it was more or less
in demand for remittance to New York.
The “Express” business of the United States is one which has not been
many years established, and which was originally limited to the
transmission of small parcels of value. On the discovery of gold in
California, the Express houses of New York immediately established
agencies in San Francisco, and at once became largely engaged in
transmitting gold dust to the mint in Philadelphia, and to various parts
of the United States, on account of the owners in California. As a
natural result of doing such a business, they very soon began to sell
their own drafts on New York, and to purchase and remit gold dust on
their own account.
They had agencies also in every little town in the mines, where they
enjoyed the utmost confidence of the community, receiving deposits from
miners and others, and selling drafts on the Atlantic States. In fact,
besides carrying on the original Express business of forwarding goods
and parcels, and keeping up an independent post-office of their own,
they became also, to all intents and purposes, bankers, and did as large
an exchange business as any legitimate banking firm in the country.
The want of coin was equally felt in San Francisco, and coins of all
countries were taken into circulation to make up the deficiency. As yet
a mint had not been granted to California, but there was a Government
Assay Office, which issued a large octagonal gold piece of the value of
fifty dollars--a roughly executed coin, about twice the bulk of a
crown-piece; while the greater part of the five, ten, and twenty dollar
pieces were not from the United States Mint, but were coined and issued
by private firms in San Francisco.
Silver was still more scarce, and many pieces were consequently current
at much more than their value. A quarter of a dollar was the lowest
appreciable sum represented by coin, and any piece approaching it in
size was equally current at the same rate. A franc passed for a quarter
of a dollar, while a five-franc piece only passed for a dollar, which is
about its actual worth. As a natural consequence of francs being thus
taken at 25 per cent more than their real value, large quantities of
them were imported and put into circulation. In 1854, however, the
bankers refused to receive them, and they gradually disappeared.
There was wonderfully little precaution taken in conveying the gold down
from the mountains, and yet, although nothing deserving the name of an
escort ever accompanied it, I never knew an instance of an attack upon
it being attempted. On several occasions I saw the Express messenger
taking down a quantity of gold from Downieville. He and another man,
both well mounted, were driving a mule loaded with leathern sacks,
containing probably two or three hundred pounds’ weight of gold. They
were well armed, of course; but a couple of robbers, had they felt so
inclined, might easily have knocked them both over with their rifles in
the solitude of the forest, without much fear of detection. Bad as
California was, it appeared a proof that it was not altogether such a
country as was generally supposed, when large quantities of gold were
thus regularly brought over the lonely mountain-trails, with even less
protection than would have been thought necessary in many parts of the
Old World.
From Oak Valley I went down to Slate Range with an American who was
anxious I should visit his camp there. After climbing down the
mountain-side, we at last reached the river, which here was confined
between huge masses of slate rock, turning in its course, and
disappearing behind bold rocky points so abruptly, that seldom could
more of the length than the breadth of the river be seen at a time.
An hour’s scrambling over the sharp-edged slate rocks on the side of the
river brought us to his camp, or at least the place where he and his
partners camped out, which was on the bare rocks, in a corner so
overshadowed by the steep mountain that the sun never shone upon it. It
was certainly the least luxurious habitation, and in the most wild and
rugged locality, I had yet seen in the mines. On a rough board which
rested on two stones were a number of tin plates, pannikins, and such
articles of table furniture, while a few flat stones alongside answered
the purpose of chairs. Scattered about, as was usual in all miners’
camps, were quantities of empty tins of preserved meats, sardines, and
oysters, empty bottles of all shapes and sizes, innumerable ham-bones,
old clothes, and other rubbish. Round the blackened spot which was
evidently the kitchen were pots and frying-pans, sacks of flour and
beans, and other provisions, together with a variety of cans and
bottles, of which no one could tell the contents without inspection; for
in the mines everything is perverted from its original purpose, butter
being perhaps stowed away in a tin labelled “fresh lobsters,” tea in a
powder canister, and salt in a sardine-box.
There was nothing in the shape of a tent or shanty of any sort; it was
not required as a shelter from the heat of the sun, as the place was in
the perpetual shade of the mountain, and at night each man rolled
himself up in his blankets, and made a bed of the smoothest and softest
piece of rock he could find.
This part of the river was very rich, the gold being found in the soft
slate rock between the layers and in the crevices.
My friend and his partners were working in a “wing dam” in front of
their camp, and the river, being pushed back off one half of its bed,
rushed past in a roaring torrent, white with foam. A large water-wheel
was set in it, which worked several pumps, and a couple of feet above it
lay a pine-tree, which had been felled there so as to serve as a bridge.
The river was above thirty feet wide, and the tree, not more than a foot
and a half in diameter, was in its original condition, perfectly round
and smooth, and was, moreover, kept constantly wet with the spray from
the wheel, which was so close that one could almost touch it in passing.
If one had happened to slip and fall into the water, he would have had
about as much chance of coming out alive as if he had fallen before the
paddles of a steamer; and any gentleman with shaky legs and unsteady
nerves, had he been compelled to pass such a bridge, would most probably
have got astride of it, and so worked his passage across. In the mines,
however, these “pine-log crossings” were such a very common style of
bridge, that every one was used to them, and walked them like a
rope-dancer: in fact, there was a degree of pleasant excitement in
passing a very slippery and difficult one such as this.