GAME AND COOKERY--ARRIVAL AT THE DIGGINGS--LITTLE CREEK--LAW AND ORDER
IN THE MINES--NOONING AT LITTLE CREEK--HARD-UP--OUR ADVENTURERS GET
CREDIT AND BEGIN WORK--A YANKEE OUTWITTED.
Deer, hares, crows, blackbirds, magpies, and quails, were the creatures
that bounded, scampered, hopped, and flew before the eyes of the
travellers at every step, as they wended their way pleasantly, beneath a
bright morning sun, over the hills and through the lesser valleys of the
great vale of the Sacramento. And all of these creatures, excepting the
crows and magpies, fell before the unerring and unexpectedly useful
blunderbuss of Captain Bunting, passed a temporary existence in the maw
of the big iron pot, and eventually vanished into the carnivorous jaws
of Ned Sinton and his friends.
Crows were excluded from their bill of fare, because the whole party had
an unconquerable antipathy to them; and Larry said he had "aiten many
pies in his lifetime, but he had niver aiten magpies, and he'd be shot
av he wos goin' to begin now."
The duties of chief hunter devolved upon the captain,--first, because he
was intensely fond of shooting; and, secondly, because game was so
plentiful and tame, that it was difficult to avoid hitting _something_,
if one only fired straight before one. For the same reasons the
blunderbuss proved to be more effectual than the rifle. The captain
used to load it with an enormous charge of powder and a handful of
shot--swan-shot, two sizes of duck-shot, and sparrow-hail, mixed, with
an occasional rifle-ball dropped in to the bargain. The recoil of the
piece was tremendous, but the captain was a stout buffer--if we may be
permitted the expression--and stood the shock manfully.
Stewed squirrels formed one of their favourite dishes, it was frequently
prepared by Tom Collins, whose powers in the culinary department proved
to be so great that he was unanimously voted to the office of _chef de
cuisine_--Bill Jones volunteering, (and being accepted), to assist in
doing the dirty work; for it must be borne in mind that the old
relations of master and man no longer subsisted amongst any of the
travellers now--excepting always the native vaquero. All were equal at
starting for the diggings, and the various appointments were made by,
and with the consent of the whole party.
Little Creek diggings were situated in a narrow gorge of the mountains,
through which flowed a small though turbulent stream. The sides of the
hills were in some places thickly clothed with trees, in others they
were destitute not only of vegetation but of earth, the rock on the
steeper declivities of the hills having been washed bare by the
periodical heavy rains peculiar to those regions. Although wild and
somewhat narrow, this little valley was, nevertheless, a cheerful spot,
in consequence of its facing almost in a southerly direction: while,
towards the east, there were several wide and picturesque gaps in the
hills which seemed to have been made for the express purpose of letting
the sun shine the greater part of the day upon the diggers while they
were at work--an advantage, no doubt, when the weather was cool, but
rather the reverse when it was hot.
The entrance to Little Creek was about two miles wide, undulating, and
beautifully diversified, resembling pleasure grounds rather than a
portion of the great wilderness of the far west; but the vale narrowed
abruptly, and, about three miles further into the mountains, became a
mere gap or ravine through which the streamlet leaped and boiled
furiously.
It was an hour before noon when our travellers came suddenly upon the
wide entrance to the valley.
"How beautiful!" exclaimed Ned, as he reined up to gaze in admiration
over the flowering plain, with its groups of noble trees.
"Ay," said Maxton, enthusiastically, "you may well say that. There may
be, perchance, as grand, but I am certain there is not a grander country
in the world than America--the land of the brave and free."
Ned did not assent at once to the latter part of this proposition.
"You forget," he said, hesitatingly, as if disinclined to hurt the
feelings or prejudices of his new friend, "you forget that it is the
land of _slaves_!"
"I confess that I did forget that at the moment," answered Maxton, while
the blood mounted to his forehead. "It is the foulest blot upon my
country's honour; but I at least am guiltless of upholding the accursed
institution, as, also, are thousands of my countrymen. I feel assured,
however, that the time is coming when that blot shall be wiped away."
"I am glad, my friend," said Ned, heartily, "to hear you speak thus; to
be frank with you, I could not have prevailed upon myself to have held
out to you the hand of intimate friendship had you proved to be a
defender of slavery."
"Then you'll form few friendships in this country," said Tom Collins,
"for many of the Yankees here have been slave-holders in their day, and
almost all defend the custom."
The conversation was interrupted at this point by Larry O'Neil uttering
a peculiarly Hibernian exclamation, (which no combination of letters
will convey,) and pointing in an excited manner to an object a few
hundred yards in advance of them.
"What d'ye see, lad!" inquired Bill Jones, shading his eyes with his
hand.
The whole party came to a halt, and gazed earnestly before them for a
few minutes in silence.
"Och!" said O'Neil, slowly, and with trembling earnestness, "av me two
eyes are spakin' truth, it's--it's a _goold digger_!--the first o' the
goold-diggers!"--and Larry followed up the discovery with a mingled
cheer and war-whoop of delight that rang far and wide over the valley.
At such an unwonted, we might almost say, appalling, sound, the "first
o' the goold-diggers,"--who was up to his waist in a hole, quietly and
methodically excavating the earth on the river's bank with a pick-axe--
raised his head, and, leaning on the haft of his pick, scrutinised the
new arrivals narrowly.
"Hooray, my hearty!" shouted Larry, as he advanced at a gallop, followed
by his laughing comrades. "The top o' the mornin' to ye--it's good luck
I'm wishin' ye, avic. How are ye gittin' on in the goold way, honey?"
The rough-looking, dusty, and bearded miner, smiled good-humouredly, as
he replied, in a gentle tone of voice that belied his looks--"Pretty
well, friend; though not quite so well as some of my neighbours. I
presume that you and your friends have just arrived at the mines?"
"Tear an' ages! it's a gintleman, I do belave," cried Larry, turning to
his companions with a look of surprise.
The miner laughed at the remark, and, leaping out of the hole, did his
best to answer the many questions that were put to him in a somewhat
excited tone by the party.
"Where's the gold?" inquired Jones, gravely, going down on his knees at
the side of the excavation, and peering into it. "I don't see none,
wotsomediver."
"The dust is very fine here," answered the miner, "and not easily
detected until washed. Occasionally we come upon nuggets and pockets in
the dry parts of the river's bed, and the _canons_ of the hills, but I
find it most profitable to work steadily down here where the whole
earth, below the surface, is impregnated with fine particles of gold.
Many of the diggers waste their time in _prospecting_, which word, I
suppose you know, means looking out for new diggings; but, according to
the proverb of my country, I prefer to remain `contented wi' little, and
cantie wi' mair.'"
"Are we far-distant from the other miners in this creek?" inquired Ned.
"No; you are quite close. You will come upon the colony after passing
that bluff of trees ahead of you," answered the Scotchman; "but come, I
will shew you the way; it is not far from nooning-time, when I usually
cease work for a couple of hours."
So saying, the miner threw his pick-axe and shovel into the hole, and
led the way towards the colony of Little Creek.
"Ain't you afraid some of the bad-looking scoundrels in these parts may
take a fancy to your pick and shovel?" inquired the captain, as they
rode along at a foot pace.
"Not in the least. Time was when I would have feared to leave them; for
at one time neither life nor property was safe here, where so many
ruffians congregated from all parts of the world; but the evil wrought
its own cure at last. Murders and robberies became so numerous, that
the miners took to Lynch law for mutual protection. Murderers and
thieves were hanged, or whipped almost to death, with such promptitude,
that it struck terror into the hearts of evil-doers; and the consequence
is, that we of this valley are now living in a state of perfect peace
and security, while in other districts, where the laws of Judge Lynch
are not so well administered, murders and thefts are occasionally heard
of. Here, if a man takes a fancy to go prospecting for a time, he has
only to throw his pick and shovel into his claim, or upon his heap of
dirt, [see note 1] and he will be sure to find them there untouched on
his return, even though he should be absent several weeks. Our tents,
too, are left unwatched, and our doors unfastened, with perfect safety,
though it is well-known that hundreds and thousands of dollars in
gold-dust lie within. I do not mean to assert that we have attained to
absolute perfection--a murder and a theft do occasionally occur, but
such are the exceptions, security is the rule."
"Truly," said Ned Sinton, "you seem to live in a golden age in all
respects."
"Not in all," answered the Scot; "the terrors of the law deter from open
violence, but they do not enforce morality, as the language and
deportment of miners generally too plainly shew. But here we are at the
colony of Little Creek."
They rounded the projecting spur of one of the hills as he spoke, and
the whole extent of the little valley opened up to view. It was indeed
a romantic and curious sight. The vale, as we have said, was narrow,
but by no means gloomy. The noontide sun shed a flood of light over the
glistening rocks and verdant foliage of the hills on the left, and cast
the short, rounded shadows of those on the right upon the plain.
Through the centre of this the Little Creek warbled on its course; now
circling round some wooded knoll, until it almost formed an island; anon
dropping, in a quiet cascade, over the edge of a flat rock; in some
places sweeping close under the base of a perpendicular cliff; in others
shooting out into a lake-like expanse of shallow water across a
bright-green meadow, as it murmured on over its golden bed towards the
Sacramento.
Higher up the valley the cliffs were more abrupt. Dark pines and
cedars, in groups or singly, hung on their sides, and gave point to the
landscape, in the background of which the rivulet glittered like a
silver thread where the mountains rose in peaks towards the sky.
Along the whole course of this rivulet, as far as the eye could trace
it, searchers for gold were at work on both banks, while their white
tents, and rude wooden shanties, were scattered, singly or in clusters
of various extent, upon the wooded slopes, in every pleasant and
suitable position. From the distance at which our party first beheld
the scene, it appeared as if the miners were not men, but little animals
grubbing in the earth. Little or no sound reached their ears; there was
no bustle, no walking to and fro, as if the hundreds there assembled had
various and diverse occupations. All were intently engaged in one and
the same work. Pick-axe and shovel rose and fell with steady regularity
as each individual wrought with ceaseless activity within the narrow
limits of his own particular claim, or rocked his cradle beside it.
Dig, dig, dig; rock, rock, rock; shovel, shovel, shovel, was the order
of the day, as long as day lasted; and then the gold-hunters rested
until recruited strength and dawning light enabled them again to go down
into the mud and dig, and rock, and shovel as before.
Many, alas! rocked themselves into a fatal sleep, and dug and shovelled
their own graves among these golden hills. Many, too, who, although
they dug and toiled for the precious metal, had neither made it their
god nor their chief good, were struck down in the midst of their heavy
toils, and retired staggering to their tents, and there, still clad in
their damp garments, laid their fevered heads on their saddles--not
unfrequently on their bags of gold-dust--to dream of the distant homes
and the loved faces they were doomed to see no more; and thus, dreaming
in solitude, or watched, mayhap, by a rough though warm-hearted mate,
breathed out their spirits to Him who gave them, and were laid in their
last resting-place with wealth untold beneath them, and earth
impregnated with gold-dust for their winding-sheet. Happy, thrice
happy, the few who in that hour could truly say to Jesus, "Whom have I
in heaven but Thee? and there is _none upon earth_ that I desire beside
Thee."
Just as our travellers approached the nearest and largest cluster of
huts and tents, a sudden change came over the scene. The hour of noon
had arrived, and, as if with one consent, the miners threw down their
tools, and swarmed, like the skirmishers of an invading host, up from
the stream towards the huts--a few of the more jovial among them singing
at the full pitch of their lungs, but most of them too wearied to care
for aught save food and repose.
Noon is the universal dinner-hour throughout the gold-mines, an hour
which might be adopted with profit in every way, we venture to suggest,
by those who dig for gold in commercial and legal ledgers and cash-books
in more civilised lands. When the new-comers reached a moderately-sized
log-cabin, which was the chief hotel of the colony, they found it in all
the bustle of preparation for an immediate and simple, though
substantial, meal.
"Can we have dinner!" inquired Ned, entering this house of
entertainment, while his companions were unsaddling and picketing their
horses and mules.
"To be sure ye can, my hearty," answered the smiling landlord, "if ye
pay for it."
"That's just the reason I asked the question," answered Ned, seating
himself on a cask--all available chairs, stool; and benches having been
already appropriated by mud-bespattered miners, "because, you must know,
I _can't_ pay for it."
"Ho!" ejaculated mine host, with a grin, "hard-up, eh! got cleaned out
with the trip up, an' trust to diggin' for the future? Well, I'll give
ye credit; come on, and stick in. It's every man for himself here, an'
no favour."
Thus invited, Ned and his friends squeezed themselves into seats beside
the long _table d'hote_--which boasted a canvas table-cloth, and had
casks for legs--and made a hearty meal, in the course of which they
obtained a great deal of useful information from their friend McLeod the
Scotchman.
After dinner, which was eaten hurriedly, most of the miners returned to
their work, and Ned with his friend; under the guidance of McLeod, went
down to the river to be initiated into the mysteries of gold-digging and
washing. As they approached several of the claims which their owners
were busy working, a Yankee swaggered up to them with a cigar in his
mouth, an impudent expression on his face, and a pick-axe on his
shoulder.
"Guess you've just come to locate in them diggin's, strangers," he said,
addressing the party at large, but looking at Ned, whose superior height
and commanding cast of countenance proved him unmistakeably to be a
leader.
"We have," replied Ned, who disliked the look of the man.
"Thought so. I'm jest goin' to quit an' make tracks for the coast.
'Bliged to cut stick on business that won't wait, I calc'late. It's
plaguey unlucky, too, for my claim's turnin' out no end o' dollars, but
I must sell it slick off so I don't mind to let ye have it cheap."
"Is your claim better than the others in the neighbourhood?" inquired
Ned.
"Wall, I jest opine it is. Look here," cried the Yankee, jumping into
his claim, which was a pit of about eight feet square and three deep,
and delving the shovel into the earth, while Ned and his friends,
besides several of the other miners, drew near to witness the result.
Maxton and Tom Collins, however, winked knowingly at each other, and,
with the Scotchman, drew back to the rear of the group.
The first shovelful of earth thrown up was absolutely full of glittering
particles of gold, and the second was even more richly impregnated with
the precious metal.
Ned and the captain stood aghast with amazement, and Bill Jones opened
mouth and eyes to their utmost extent.
"Hooroo! och! goold galore! there it is at last!" shouted Larry O'Neil,
tossing up his arms with delight. "Do buy it, Mr Ned, darlint."
"I needn't turn up more, I guess," said the Yankee, carelessly throwing
down his shovel, and filling the earth into a tin bowl or pan; "I'll
jest wash it out an' shew ye what it's like."
So saying he dipped the pan into the stream gently, and proceeded to
wash out the gold. As this was done in the way usually practised by
diggers, we shall describe it.
Setting down the tin pan of earth and water, the Yankee dipped both
hands into it and stirred its contents about until it became liquid mud,
removing the stones in the operation. It was then moved round quickly
with a peculiar motion which caused some off the top to escape over the
edge of the pan with each revolution; more water was added from time to
time, and the process continued until all the earthy matter was washed
away, and nothing but a kind of black sand, in which the gold is usually
contained, remained at the bottom.
"There you are," cried the man, exultingly, lifting up a handful of the
heavy and shining mixture; "fifteen dollars at least in two shovelfuls.
I'll sell ye the claim, if ye like, for two hundred dollars."
"I would give it at once," said Ned, feeling at the moment deeply
troubled on account of his poverty; "but, to say truth, I have not a
farthing in the world."
A peculiar grin rested on the faces of the miners who looked on as he
spoke, but before he could inquire the cause, Tom Collins stepped
forward, and said:
"That's a first-rate claim of yours. What did ye say was your charge
for it?"
"Three hundred dollars down."
"I'll tell ye what," rejoined Tom, "I'll give you _six_ hundred dollars
for it, if you take out another shovelful of dirt like _that_!"
This remark was greeted by a general laugh from, the bystanders, which
was joined in by the Yankee himself as he leaped out of the hole, and,
shouldering his shovel, went off with his friends, leaving Ned and some
others of his party staring at each other in astonishment.
"What _does_ it all mean?" he inquired, turning to Tom Coffins, whose
laughing countenance shewed that he at least was not involved in
mystery.
"It means simply that we were all taken for green-horns, which was quite
a mistake, and that we were to have been thoroughly cheated--a
catastrophe which has happily been prevented. Maxton and I determined
to let the rascally fellow go as far as he could, and then step in and
turn the laugh against him, as we have done."
"But explain yourself. I do not yet understand," repeated Ned, with a
puzzled look.
"Why, the fact is, that when strangers arrive at the diggings, full of
excitement and expectation, there are always a set of sharpers on the
look-out, who offer to sell their claims, as they often say, `for a mere
song,' and in order to prove their worth, dig out a little dirt, and
wash it, as you have just seen done; taking care beforehand, however, to
mingle with it a large quantity of gold-dust, which, of course, comes to
light, and a bargain is generally struck on the spot, when the sharper
goes off with the price, and boasts of having `done' a green-horn, for
which he is applauded by his comrades. Should the fraud be detected
before the completion of the bargain, as in our case, he laughs with the
rest, and says, probably, he `warn't so 'cute as usual.'"
"Och, the scoundrels!" cried Larry; "an' is there no law for sich
doin's?"
"None; at least in most diggings men are left to sharpen their own wits
by experience. Sometimes, however, the biter is pretty well bitten.
There was a poor Chilian once who was deceived in this way, and paid
four hundred dollars for a claim that was scarcely worth working. He
looked rather put out on discovering the imposture, but was only laughed
at by most of those who saw the transaction for his softness. Some
there were who frowned on the sharper, and even spoke of lynching him,
but they were a small minority, and had to hold their peace. However,
the Chilian plucked up heart, and, leaping into his claim, worked away
like a Trojan. After a day or two he hit upon a good layer of blue
clay, and from that time he turned out forty dollars a day for two
months."
"Ah! good luck to him," cried Larry.
"And did the sharper hear of it?" inquired the captain.
"That he did, and tried to bully the poor fellow, and get his claim back
again; but there was a strong enough sense of justice among the miners
to cause such an outcry that the scoundrel was fain to seek other
diggings."
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Note 1. "Dirt" is the name given among miners, to the soil in which
gold is found.