WHY ARE SO MANY OF THE OLD-TIMERS SO POOR--THE UNCERTAINTY OF
MINING--TEX AND BARTON LEE--TEX AND THE HOUND--TEX ON BOARD THE
STEAMER--TEX AT GOLGONA.
An old rancher, a neighbor of Mike, who was present, now asked the
question, why it was that so many of the old pioneers were so poor? for
being here at the first, when the mines were so rich, the gold so easy
to get, and all kinds of business so good, they should all be wealthy
now.
“No! not all!” explained Mike. “It is thrue ainough that we old
pioneers got ther crame ov it by being here first, but yez see we
thought ’twas jest agoin’ to last ther whole toime, and that there
could be no ind to it, do yez moind, so we spint our money frayly, for
it come aisy, an’ went ther same way. Whin ther shallow placer mines
begun to give out, an’ we could only make small wages, do yez see,
thin ther b’ys commenced to tramp about among ther mountains to hunt
for richer diggings, for after workin’ such rich claims at first, they
were not contint to work for smaller wages, an’ ther most of thim spint
their money in that way, do yez see, in thrampin’ about ther country
prospecting for richer diggings.
“An’ thin, agin, the old Forty-niners are as a general rule better
known and more prominent than any other class thin, an’ many ov thim
being poor, yez are all afther concludin’ that we are all afther being
that same. But do yez moind thin, me b’ys, I tell yez that there’s jest
as great a proportion ov the old pioneers who have made their pile, an’
who have kept it, as yez’ll be afther findin’ among any other class ov
min, be jabers. Tis thrue enough, me b’ys, that a very small proportion
ov yez old pioneers who are at prisint livin’ in ther minin’ regions
have saved enough to harrum yez, becase if yez had that same, yez
wudn’t stay here at all, at all, but yez wud be afther strikin’ out for
ther big cities below with the rest ov ther b’ys who made their pile in
the minin’ ragions an’ wint down there to spind it, begorra. A great
many of thim wint into business in ther big city an’ are in business
yit, many ov them wint Aist an’ hundreds ov thim are now in business
in the cities ov New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, an’ other
places, an’ be jabers they are afther houldin their own, too, with ther
best of ’em. Now, me b’ys, yez know that the greater portion of thim
old pioneers are a long-lived race, an’ be jabers you’ll foind that
they continue workin’ good pay ground as long as any other class of
paple in ther world.
“For don’t yez know, b’ys, that no class ov min in any business
continue to prosper only about so many years? A great many ov thim in
early days spent their kine fraly in prospecting thim river beds, in
building quartz mills, as well as in runnin’ long an’ expinsive tunnels
in ther hills in sarching for thim ancient river beds, an’ be jabers!
they wern’t afraid to spind their kine fraly to develop ther country
for ther benefit ov all ov yez who was after follerin us to make their
pile in ther country, do yez see, now? But the ould time prospectors
are ther poorest ov the lot do yez moind, an’ ’tis for ther raison that
they spind their toime thrampin’ about among ther mountains searching
for a rich mine; an’ indade thin ’tis thrue enough that many ov thim
do succade in foindin one of thim occasionally that was afther havin’
a fortune in it, but divil a bit can ther ould-timer work it at all,
for, be gob, he has no kine to do that same. So ther poor divil, afther
havin’ spint his toime in huntin’ for a mine, is obliged, do yez see,
to spind more toime in huntin’ for some chap who has got ther kine to
help him work it, or else to buy it, an’ he is finally obliged to sell
it for jest what they plase to give him.
“This is soon spint, an’ thin he is afther commincin’ his endless
thramp agin over mountains an’ through ther various minin’ ragions from
Arizona up to ther Arctic ocean, to diskiver anither rich mine to sell
in ther same style. ’Tis for this raison that yez ould prospectors
are afther bein’ continually down on ther bed rock, be jabers! Oh,
yis, ’tis thrue enough, as yez say, that yez have ther pleasure of
thraveling over the counthry an’ of makin’ rich diskiveries for others
to rape ther benefit ov, an’, indade, that is some satisfaction for
yez, be gorra!”
Another one remarked that “Some of the reasons why many of the
old-timers were at the present time so poor were that they acquired the
habit of spending their money freely in early days, because it came
easy and they thought that the rich mines would be more lasting. In
my opinion, therefore, it is in the nature of the business, as placer
mining was in early days, when wages were an ounce a day and when
hundreds were making double, and even treble that amount daily; such
conditions had the effect to destroy all habits or ideas of economy.”
“Yis, indade,” said Mike, “but ther great majority of yez niver larned
the manin’ of ther tarm economy at all, at all. But ’twas not ther
nature of ther business of minin’ entoirly that taught yez to spind yez
money so fraely thin; but, be gorra, ’twas natural to ther most ov yez,
an’ indade, thin, ’twas this fault that made yez ther Forty-niners,
an’, be jabers, it saims to stick right by ther most of yez.”
“That reminds,” said Jeff, “of a remark I heard a Dutchman make once
who kept a store up on Bear River in ’56. Says he, ‘I could always
shust knows dem ’49 vellers ven dey was come into mine store, mit
mine eyes all shut up.’ ‘I asked him why.’ ‘Vei, den, ven one of dose
vellers comes in to buy sometings, he says, Old vellers, have you got
some of dot stuff dot vas pooty goot? I says I was. Vell, den, he says,
you shust fills up mine jug; So I fills up dot jug, and he pays me, und
den he goes right away pooty soon.
“Vel, den, pooty quick some dose other vellers, he comes in mine store,
und he says, “Jacob, has you got some dem tings?” ‘I speaks to him I
vas. Vell, den, he dells me how I sells dem, and I speaks to him how
mooch.’ “Vell,” he say, “couldn’t you sell dose a leetle more cheaper
as dot.” ‘I speak to him no. Vell, den, he tells me shust to gives him
drei pints, and put em in mit vour of dose bottles. Vell den he shust
goes mit de corner round, and dakes up one of dem bottles under his
nose, und pooty soon he speaks, “Jacob, von’t you shust fill up dot
bottles vot leaked out?” ‘So I puts ’em in a leetle more, und den he
pays me dem monies, und he goes right away mit dem bottles. Und dot vas
vy I does, ain’t it?”
At this point in the conversation in regard to the present poverty of
many of the old-timers, Jeff remarked.
“Well, Mike, ’tis true enough that the most of us old prospectors have
failed in our expectations of making another raise at mining, or at any
rate in being able to save what we have made in the past; yet ’tis
some consolation for us to know that there was a time once when we were
able to make a big splurge in the big city below when we made them a
visit with our pockets filled with dust, and give the chaps down there
to understand that we knew where there was a plenty more of the same
sort of stuff when that was gone.”
“But divil a bit, thin,” retorted Mike, “is ther thought ov thim days
ov plinty an big diggins any consolation to yez at all, at all, in
yez ould age. Indade, thin, ther thoughts ov sich prosperity in ther
past only makes our prisint poverty saim ther greater by the contrast,
thin. For, begorra, ther ain’t a divil a one ov us but who’d be moity
willin’ now in our ould age to swap off all ov thim years that we was
afther splurgin down in thim cities below with our pockets filled with
dust. Yis, indade, we wud swap all ov thim, an’ we wuldn’t be afther
askin’ any boot aither, for just a few short years ov rest an’ quiet
now in our ould age, fray from want an’ care, without bein’ obliged to
be containualy thrampin’ about all over ther counthry tryin’ to make a
dacent living.”
Tennessee remarked: “Well, Mike, after all the great uncertainty in the
business of mining, yet there is a fascination about it that many of us
cannot resist, for there is a continual expectation that we will soon
strike the right spot.”
“Yis, indade, there is that same, thin, an’, be jabers, I was afther
thinkin’ meself, in early days, that moinin’ was jist ther finest an’
the most facinatin’ business in ther wuorld; for do yez moind, thin,
it made no difference how much we was afther makin’ on our claim.
Whither ’twas one ounce or tin ov thim, we was always afther ixpictin’
that ther nixt day ’twud be double, do yez see. ’Twas these containual
ixpictations, do yez moind, that made ther business so facinatin’,
begorra! Whin at wurruk in ther ravine we was ivery day ixpictin’, do
yez moind, that soon we wud be afther jist shovelin’ ther gould up
by ther bucket full, as they did over in Georgetown gulch. An’ thin,
again, we wud soon be after ixpictin’ to find a rich crivise, when
we could take out ther gould by ther ton, as they did over in Alder
gulch, Montanna, be jabers. Thin, agin, we was always jist ixpictin’
in our tunnel to sthrike a spot ov blue gravel, whin we wud take
out ther gould by ther car load, as ther b’ys did from Forest Hill.
Faith, thin, me b’ys, ’twas these containual ixpictations in early
days that made ther business of minin’ so facinatin’, but thin ther
containual disappintments that many ov us met with destroys in toime
ther facination av their business, an’ we are contint to thry to make
a livin’ in some other manner an’ let thim b’ys who havn’t lost ther
faith in ther business still continue it, in ther hope that some day
yez’ll be afther sthrikin ther right spot, where yez’ll foind a fortune
ready waitin’ for yez.”
Some one asked Mike what had become of his old partner, Pat Kennedy,
whom he worked with on French Flat in ’54. Mike answered that Pat got
hurt in a shaft up in Placer County in ’56, and died soon after. He
stated that Pat and Uncle Tim Winn were at work sinking a shaft and
that Tim let the bucket slip out of his hands, and down it went upon
the top of Pat’s head.
“I had a talk with Uncle Tim about it,” said Mike, “an’ Tim says to
me: ‘An’, indade, Mike, I was jist afther hookin’ on the tub to sind
it down to Pat, an’ it slipped out ov me hands an’ down it wint, an’ I
took a glance down the shaft thin, ixpictin’ to see Pat somewhere in
the last stage ov a rapid decline, do yez moind, but divil a bit was
he decloinin’ at all, for he was standin’ upon his fate an’ reclinin’
against the side ov the shaft. Says I: “Is it much harumed that yez
are, Pat?” “Divil a bit am I at all, but me brains are all knocked out
intoirly, and ’tis spaichless, too, that I am, Tim.”’”
“Say, Jeff,” says Tennessee, “do you remember Tex who worked with me in
that gulch down in old Tuolumne? ’twas long in the spring of ’50.”
“Oh, yes,” answered Jeff, “that tall, good-looking, blue-eyed chap.”
“Well, when I was up in the Salmon River country in ’65, I heard some
of the miners speaking about a chap they called Tex, who was said to
be an old Forty-niner, and was at work in a cañon a few miles above.
I jest felt that he might be my old pard that I hadn’t seen or heard
of for ten or twelve years, so I found the trail to the cañon and went
up to see him. Yes, sure enough, ’twas Tex; I knew him as soon as I
come in sight of him. He had found a rich spot and lived like a king.
He put me onto a good claim in the cañon above him, and I worked there
for about a year and made quite a raise; but I found the winters too
cold for me up there, so I sold out and left. I tell you but Tex was
clear grit, though. You remember the time when Barton Lee of Sacramento
City busted up and swindled so many of the boys out of their gold dust?
Well,
[Illustration: A GOLD SAVING MACHINE.]
Tex had $5,000 worth of gold dust deposited there in Lee’s safe. I
think ’twas long in the spring of ’50 that we first got the news that
Lee had busted. The boys who had deposited their dust with him made a
rush for Sacramento City, now, you bet. But, oh, pshaw! it wern’t any
use. They couldn’t git anything. A few of them, I heard afterwards,
made out to git a little something. Well, now, you see, when the news
first come up, I asked Tex if he wasn’t goin’ down, for I noticed that
he didn’t seem to hurry or fret about it. ‘Oh,’ says he, ‘I reckon I
will, but there’s no hurry about it.’ Now Tex waited for some of the
boys to return, and report what the prospect was, and then he started
down. I tell you there was black sand in the corner of his eye as he
stepped into the stage the next morning, and says I to myself, ‘Old
Barton, old Barton, take keer of yourself, for you are agoin’ to have
a visitor from old Tuolumne!’ Well, upon his arrival in Sacramento,
he found Lee’s office, and in front of it was a large, powerful negro
acting in the capacity of doorkeeper. Says Tex to him, ‘Is Mr. Lee in
his office?’
“‘No, sah, no, sah, he am not, sah!’
“‘Well, I know a d---- d sight better,’ says Tex.
“‘Well, you can’t see him, sah, for he’s busy, sah.’
“But before the astonished doorkeeper could scrape himself together
again from among the pile of old rubbish in the corner, Tex was inside
the room, and with the door locked upon the inside.
“He found Mr. Lee alone, writing at his table. He laid his certificate
of deposit upon the table in front of him, and remarked in a very
quiet, pleasant manner:
“‘Mr. Lee, that paper calls for $5,000 worth of gold dust, and I will
give you just two minutes to open that safe and pass it out.’
“Mr. Lee would like to make an explanation and argue the case; but ‘not
a word, sir; when you open that safe, and I find there is no money or
gold dust in it, then I will listen to any explanation which you wish
to give, and not before, so hurry up, if you please.’
“Mr. Lee then in a very haughty manner turned and looked Tex in the
eye. He saw color in among the black sand in the corner of it, fixed
his eyes upon that funny, innocent-looking gold saving machine which
Tex was holding in his hand, slid in a kind of hurried sort of way over
the back of his chair to his safe, unlocked it, counted out $5,000
all in slugs, put them into a little canvas sack, and handing it to
Tex, remarked that it was all right. ‘You bet,’ says Tex, and politely
bidding Barton good-day, he left.”
“Well,” says another old-timer whom they called Pete, “that reminds me
of another one of the same breed who lived up in Coloma. His name was
Crumie, George Crumie, if I remember. This chap kept a saloon up there,
and I believe was the only one in the camp who had an iron safe at that
time, for this was along in the spring of ’50, I think. Now, Mr. Crumie
was a very obliging man, and was willing for us miners to keep our
sacks of dust in his safe. Well, one day Mr. Crumie concluded that he
had some very important business to attend to in San Francisco, and now
was a grand opportunity for any of the boys to send down for any little
thing they wanted, as Mr. Crumie was willing to attend to anything of
that kind, and wouldn’t charge a cent for his trouble. The consequence
was that he had quite a list of articles to purchase for us, and the
dust in his pocket to pay for ’em.
“The morning Mr. Crumie left the camp ’twas noticed that his baggage
was rather numerous, and quite hefty, too, for a man who was jest goin’
down on business and who was intending to come right back agin, do
you see. But little attention was paid to his baggage, however, and
all was supposed to be right until a few days after he had left, when
word was brought up to Coloma that Mr. George Crumie was on board of
a steamer, and on his way to New York. Upon receiving this unwelcome
news, the boys concluded that something was wrong. The safe was at once
broken open, for he had taken the key with him, and found empty. It was
estimated that there was at least $25,000 in gold dust deposited there
by different miners, besides about $7,000 belonging to his pardner,
John O’Donnell, who was then living in Hangtown. That explained the use
of them heavy trunks that some of us helped to load upon the stage for
him the day he started.”
Pete was asked if Crumie had ever been heard of since? “No,” he
answered, “not that I am sure of; but only a few years ago I was
informed that a Mr. George Crumie was residing in the city of----, and
following the profession of gambling.”
Tennessee now remarked that there was another little incident or two in
which his old pard Tex took an active part that he would like to tell;
one of them occurred in a small town upon the Mississippi river near
Memphis, in the fall of ’51. “Tex and I concluded to go home on a visit
for a short time in the fall of ’51, and on the way we stopped at the
little town for a few days to see some old acquaintances, and it was
there that the little incident occurred. We met rather unexpectedly a
man that we didn’t think of meeting. Of course you all remember that
company of outlaws that created so much excitement here in California
in ’49, called The Hounds.
“There was, I think, about twenty of them, and their object was when
they first formed to clean out the Mexican horse and cattle thieves
who infested the central and lower parts of the State at that time.
They accomplished their purpose, and very effectually, too, in a short
time, but this job finished what to do next was the question to decide,
which they were not long in doing, however, for the precedent had been
established many years before by the renowned Captain Kidd, with which
fact they were all doubtless familiar. They therefore decided to go and
do likewise upon their hook, and roam at will among the hills of the
mining regions, as well as among the ranches of the valleys, as land
buccaneers.
“They were a desperate set of men, and had no scruples whatever about
taking the life of any one who opposed them. Rewards were offered by a
committee of citizens for their capture or destruction, and the band
was finally broken up and dispersed, many of them being forced to flee
the country.
“One of these Hounds was a man whom Tex had heard of before, and a
few years previous had resided near the small town where I have said
that we stopped for a few days. By the way, while in San Francisco a
few days before starting on our voyage home, by accident Tex picked
up an old handbill from a table in the hotel where we were stopping,
signed by the committee of citizens and Governor Burnett also, I
think, offering a reward of $1,000 for the capture of this very man I
refer to. Well, while sitting in the bar-room of a hotel in the small
town, in conversation with old acquaintances, Tex made the remark
that this man, who formerly lived near here, had been a member of the
band of outlaws in California called The Hounds, and inquired if it
was known what had ever become of him, and I tell you, boys, we were
both astonished when informed that that man was at the present time a
resident of the place, and was running a faro game in a house across
the street. We were further informed that he was a very dangerous
character.
“Now you may depend that this news to us was not very pleasant at this
particular time, and if we had known it we should never have mentioned
his name, but Tex was in for it now, and of course I was bound to stand
by my pard.
“One of this man’s friends, who was present and heard the statement
from Tex, went over and informed him at once that a man at the hotel,
right from California, had stated all the particulars of his connection
with The Hounds, and of the reward offered for his
[Illustration: TEX GIVES FULL SATISFACTION.]
capture. Well, we expected, of course, to receive a visit from the
gentleman, and we didn’t have long to wait, for in a few minutes the
door was thrown open and in walked a large, powerfully built man who
was every inch a Hound, and he showed it in his black, glistening eyes.
He walked right up to Tex, who was sitting in a chair, and demanded
his authority for the statement, or instant satisfaction for the foul
slander, at the same time placing his hand upon the handle of his
weapon. Tex drew his weapon instantly, and, rising to his feet, replied
in a very quiet manner:
“‘Well, sir, you can have both if you wish, and first here is my
authority,’ at the same time taking the handbill from his pocket he
shook it out, and stepping backwards a few steps to the side of the
room, fastened it to the wall, remarking: ‘There, sir, is my authority
for the statement I have made, signed by the Governor, and now if you
demand satisfaction you shall have it at once, but if you make the
least motion to draw your weapon you are a dead Hound.’
“The man immediately left the house, and that night left the town upon
finding that his friends had all deserted him.”
One of the boys asked Tennessee what steamer he sailed on when he
returned East in ’51, and if there were many other forty-niners who
went East upon the same steamer? He stated that they took passage in
the steamer “Sierra Nevada” from San Francisco, and upon the steamer
“Illinois” from Chagres to New York, the latter commanded by Lieutenant
Herndon, who was lost when the steamer “Central America” foundered a
few years later in the Caribbean Sea. There were about 700 passengers
on board the steamer when we left San Francisco, and as near as we
could judge at that time about 500 of them were Forty-niners. Some were
going East to remain, but by far the greater portion were going to see
their friends, relatives, and the girls they left behind them, and with
the intention of returning soon again to California.
It was while crossing the Isthmus that another little incident
occurred, in which Tex took an active part. It illustrates the
character of the man, and how ready he always was to help any one in
trouble. In crossing the Isthmus at that time we traveled on foot or by
mule power to the small town of Golgona, which place is at the head of
navigation, and from here down the Chagres River by boat to the town
of Chagres. Now, Tex, myself, and a few others, arrived at Golgona
ahead of the crowd of passengers from Panama early in the afternoon,
intending, of course, to take passage immediately down the river. But
as we were upon the point of starting we were informed by one of the
passengers of the steamer, John L. Stevens, that a friend of his,
who was also a passenger upon the same steamer, was confined in the
calaboose there upon the evidence of one of the natives, who swore that
the American had refused to pay him for transporting his trunk from
Panama. Upon this accusation the American was arrested and confined in
the native prison, a large log house near the town. Upon investigation
we found this man to be a Forty-niner, a man about 60 years of age,
and from the State of Ohio. We were allowed to converse with him
through the iron-grated window, and he stated that he paid the native
in advance at Panama one ounce, as agreed upon, for transporting his
baggage, and didn’t think it right to compel him to pay it again upon
the evidence of the native.
To leave this old Forty-niner locked up was not to be thought of. Tex
proposed, therefore, that we wait until our passengers had all arrived
in the place, then make a demand for his release of the Alcalde, and in
case of refusal, to release him ourselves and take him down the river
with us.
About four P.M. the passengers had all arrived and we
were ready for business. A committee was appointed to wait upon the
Alcalde, a large powerful negro, dressed in full regimentals, with a
cavalry sword suspended to his waist, and explain to him the facts
in the case and demand the man’s release; but the old commander felt
the dignity of his position, and in a very lofty and dignified manner
refused to liberate the Americano until he had settled the account.
Suspecting trouble the Alcalde called out his native troops, numbering
about 200 men, to guard the prison. They were armed with a great
variety of weapons, consisting of the old-fashioned flint-lock musket,
pistols, swords and clubs. Among them the old style brass blunderbuss
was numerous, as well as other styles of deadly weapons. I tell you,
boys, they were about as ferocious and formidable a looking set of
warriors as you would care to run afoul of in a dark night if you
didn’t know who they were; but during an engagement the safest place,
in my opinion, would be right in front of them.
[Illustration: TEX AT GOLGONA.]
Well, Tex took charge of the boys, and with a big sledge hammer in his
hand we formed into line between the native troops and the calaboose.
Tex drew his watch from his pocket and holding it up before the eyes
of the Alcalde gave him (the latter) to understand, by pointing to the
hands of it, that when the short hand had got to the figure five if the
door wasn’t opened he would open it with his sledge, and, furthermore,
if he ordered his troops to fire off their guns and things that some
of them would get badly hurt. The Alcalde drew his huge sword from its
scabbard, flourished it above his head, and at the same time ordered
his troops to turn around, face the music and make ready, which they
succeeded in doing after some little trouble; but at the same time Tex
remarked: “Now, boys, show ’em what you’re got, and we’ll soon show ’em
that we know how to use them, too.” Every man instantly drew his gun.
They were mostly single-barrelled pistols, although there was a great
number of the latest style of revolver, the Smith & Wesson, among them,
but they were sufficient for the purpose.
As soon as the time was up Tex held his watch up before the eyes of
the Alcalde, replaced it carefully in his pocket, at the same time
raising the sledge above his head and advancing toward the prison door.
Would the swarthy commander order his troops to fire? He ran his eye
along the line of his brave army, then took a careful survey of the
crowd of Americans in front of the prison, and looked at the little
insignificant weapons that they held in their hands. Would he uphold
the dignity of his position and give the order to fire and save his
reputation as a warrior? He hesitated; suppose he should get hurt and
his army annihilated? Taking the key from his pocket he unlocked the
prison door, and the old Forty-niner was free.
Upon our return to California a few months later the fact had been made
known that the native did actually receive his pay for transporting
the American’s trunk. He was tried and found guilty, and the Alcalde
sentenced him to receive 100 lashes and confined him in prison for one
year.