YANK VISITS THE OLD MINING CAMP--YANK SEATED ON THE BOULDER--THE
FIRST LOAF OF BREAD--THE BEAN-POT COMET--HOW JULIUS SAILED UP THE
RIVER--JEFF’S PLUM-DUFF--THE STONE STATUE--THE OLD MINER WHO WAS
ROBBED ON BOARD THE STEAMER--THE CŒUR D’ALENE MINES--COASTING.
One of the company remarked, with rather a sad expression of
countenance, that the last time he went through the mining region in
the central counties, where he mined in earlier days, it actually gave
him the blues to see those small villages and mining camps now all
going to ruins and not a single sluice or tom at work for miles around,
except once in a while by a Chinaman.
“Why, them confounded ranchers,” he continued, “are jest fencin’ in the
whole country, and settin’ out their grape-vines and orchards right
where we used to jest roll out ther dust. Why, if them chaps keep on a
spell longer, nobody will know that there has ever been any minin’ done
there at all.”
“Oh, say, Jim, when were you up in Eldorado County last!” asked Yank,
an old-timer, of an old pardner whom he had just met for the first time
in many years.
Jim replied that he had never been to that part of the country since he
left it in ’53.
“But that was a rich gulch that we worked over there by Mosquito cañon,
wern’t it?” said Yank.
“Well, I should say it was, and good two-ounce diggins’ every day. I
would jest like to strike another sich a claim as that now.”
“Well,” says Yank, “do you remember old Buckeye, the chap with the
crooked nose?”
“Oh, yes! yes indeed. You remember I called him old corkscrew. But have
you ever run afoul of him in your travels?”
“Yes,” replied Yank, “and I’ll tell ye how I happened to strike him
last fall. You see I had been prospecting around up in that new silver
minin’ region in Northern Idaho, and as soon as the snow begun to fall
I concluded to make tracks for California, so I came down through
Montana into Nevada, but didn’t see any thing worth stayin’ there for.
Well, on my way over from Nevada, I concluded to come around on that
divide, take a look around the country above Georgetown, and take
a walk over to that gulch, near Mosquito Cañon, where we worked in
’50. But I tell you I hardly knew the place, for I had to climb over
fences, travel through vineyards and orchards, and in one place I come
across the biggest swarm of children that you ever did see, and it did
seem strange to see so many children livin’ where only a few years
ago was nobody but grizzlys and Indians. I asked a little black-eyed
chap where they all came from, and he said that building over there on
the hill was a school-house, and the children all lived around in the
neighborhood. I asked him if their parents were mining?
“‘Oh, no,’ said he, ‘they was most all ranchin’, some few of em were
minin’ down in the cañon and some were workin’ in their tunnel claims
in the hills.’
I asked him if there was any more children in that part of the country.
“‘Oh,’ says he, ‘I reckon there is; for right over there by the cañon
is a big school house that’s chock full of children, and over there in
that ravine they are jest buildin’ another one and that’ll soon be full
of children too, you bet.’
“The boy put me on the trail to the cañon, and I soon found the gulch
where we mined nearly forty years ago. ’Tis all fenced in now, and the
ground where we worked down in the gulch is all covered with fruit
trees. You remember that great quartz boulder, Jim, that slid down off
the bank one day and came near smashing some of us?”
“Oh, yes, first rate,” answered Jim.
“Well, that great boulder lies right there yet in the same spot and
jest looks as natural as life. I lit my pipe and took a seat upon it,
as we used to do, you remember, and thought of old times, and wondered
what had become of my old pardners, Jim, Buckeye and Kentuck. I found
the old cabin that we built, or what is left of it, but it has been
fixed up, and two or three chaps are livin’ in it, who are at work for
the man who owns the ranch. I took a walk up towards the old cabin
and see two of them chaps grinding an axe out in front of it. Do you
remember, Jim, the time that I went over to Georgetown and bought that
Dutch oven?”
[Illustration: YANK REVISITING THE OLD SCENES.]
“Yes, indeed, I do, and old Buckeye called it a donkey baker, because
there was a big cross upon the inside of the cover, and I remember,
Yank, how you bragged that you was jest a-goin to show the boys what
good bread was when it come your cook week agin. Ha! Ha! and I remember
that first loaf you baked, too, and how we had to drill and blast it
into small pieces before we could eat it.”
“But don’t you remember the next loaf I baked was so infernal hard,
Jim, that you broke the drill tryin’ to put in a blast?”
“Yes, you bet I do, Yank.”
“Well, you’ve got an awful good memory, Jim; and you remember I threw
that loaf of bread out among the ashes in front of the house, Yank?”
“Well, now, listen. I see them chaps at work up there in front of the
cabin grindin’ an axe, and I could hear one of ’em growlin’ and cussin’
about somethin’, so I walked up that way to have a talk with them. They
told me that they had been to work mor’n two hours tryin’ to grind the
axe on that grindstone, but ’twasn’t worth a cuss. I asked them where
the stone came from, and one of them said that he found it among that
old pile of ashes and tried three or four days to git a hole through it
so they could use it.
“‘Out of the ash heap,’ said I, ‘that’s queer.’ I stepped up close to
get a good look at it, and what do you suppose I see, Jim? Why, on the
side of the stone was a big cross, and I’ll be dolgerned if they wasn’t
using that loaf of bread for a grindstone that I throw’d out there
nearly forty years ago, just as sure as you live. Well, I asked the
chap how they got a hole through it. He said they tried every way they
could think of, but ’twas no use.
“‘One day there was a thunder shower comin’ over, and the Boss, he
fastened a wire to it and then run the ’tother end of the wire ’way up
to the top of a hop-pole. Well, the lightnin’ struck it right square in
the center, and it jest tore the lightnin’ all to pieces, but didn’t
hurt the stone a bit.’
“‘Well, well,’ says I, ‘that beats anything I ever heard of. But,’ I
asked, ‘how did you make out to git a hole through it at last?’
“‘Well,’ says he, ‘I’ll tell ye. A man over the hill yonder was down
here to the ranch ’tother day looking at the stone, and he told the
Boss to bring it over to his ranch and he would drill a hole through
it for him. So we took it over thar and he did it. You see, he has
got on his ranch a real knowin’ sort of mule, who’s always willin’ to
do anythin’ you want done, if he can do it. So the rancher made the
stone fast to a tree behind the mule, fastened a drill to the mule’s
hind foot, and then begun to tickle the mule behind his ear with a
long straw, and in about three minutes he drilled a hole right square
through the middle of the stone.’
“Then I up and told him what that stone was and the reason why they
couldn’t grind an axe on it, and showed him the cross on the inside of
it, and how it was marked from the cross on the inside of the cover of
the bake-oven.
“The chap who had told me all about drilling the hole through it,
turned his eye up towards me and remarked that he thought I had better
be goin’ pretty soon, for the Boss might be comin’ down that way. I
asked him why? He said there was a notice jest above thar on the fence
that no old Forty-niners were allowed to come about on the ranch. I
asked him the reason why, and he said that he couldn’t exactly tell
what the reason was, but said he (the Boss) was an old Forty-niner
hisself and maybe he could tell me. I then asked the chap if he was an
old-timer too. He said no, but that he had an aunt who was.
“‘I thought so,’ said I.
[Illustration: THE NEW MOTOR.]
“Well, just then there come walking down towards the cabin a large,
heavy-built, gray-headed man, the boss of the ranch, as they informed
me. He had, as I thought, a familiar look, and as he came nearer, Jim,
blamed if there wasn’t that corkscrew! Yes, sure enough, ’twas our old
pard, Buckeye.
“He knew me at once, and we spent nearly half a day in talking about
old-times, and enjoyed a jolly laugh over that grindstone. He has a
fine ranch; lots of fruit, as well as a very smart-looking woman for a
wife, and four or five children.
“He tried to persuade me to take up a piece of land near him, get
married and live like white folks.
“But I told him that I was too old to start into an arrangement of that
kind now, and should continue in the occupation of mining the balance
of my life.”
In this manner the old-timers continued throughout the day in calling
up old scenes and incidents of early days.
“We are getting pretty well along in years, boys,” says Jersey, “but we
can do a heap of prospecting yet, though. And who knows but what there
may be a chance to make a big stake before we go, and some of us old
prospectors come up to the top of the heap yet.”
Another old-timer now attempted to relate his experience in cooking a
pot of beans for the first time, when he was suddenly interrupted by
Julius, a venerable colored individual from the city of Boston, who was
formerly cook on board of some Boston ship that arrived in California
in the year ’49.
“Yes, sah! now I spose you is jes’ gwine to spress yer ignorance on
de bean cooking question sah! jes’ as all ob dem gemman did who was
ignorant ob de cookin’ art, sah; an’ who am deficient in de high
culture necessary for de casion, sah. I tells ye dat de ignorance ob de
gemman in de early days was mos’ stonishing when dey fills de pot chuck
full ob de beans, an’ den, as dey swell up an’ fill de pot chuck full,
dey jes’ scoop ’em out, ’til dey fills all de old pots an’ pans about
dere house wid dem half-cooked beans. Yes sah! one ob dose uncultivated
individuals way down in Calaveras, one day in ’50, jes’ filled his
dinner pot chuck full ob beans, an’ when dey undertook for to swell
up, he jes’ takes a big chain an’ lashed de kiver down to keep ’em in
de pot. But I tole him dat it wernt no use to do dat, kase de swellin’
proclivities ob dem beans am so powerful, sah! dat you might jes’ as
well try to spress wid a big chain dem gentle swellin’ proclivities ob
de bosom ob! ob!--”
“Of what Julius?”
“Ob de ocean, de ocean sah.”
“Well Julius, did the pot cover blow off?”
“No, sah; but de whole pot, kiver an’ all, jes blowed up froo de roof,
an’ away it went sailin’ froo de air ober de country towards Bosting,
sah, wid dem beans jes’ er streamin’ along after it. De miners tink it
am a comet, suah, wid a long tail jes’ er scatterin’ de fire an’ de
grabel stones all ober de country.”
“Julius,” one of the boys asked, “did you see this bean-pot comet
yourself?”
“Well,” he answered, “I jes’ specks I did, boss, kase I was right dar
durin’ de ’currence ob dat berry interestin’ ’casion, sah.”
[Illustration: THE BEAN-POT COMET.]
Yank suggested to him that as it was getting late he had better go home
and feed his pigs.
“Yes, sah! yes, sah! I is gwine, sah.” But as he was about to leave,
some one asked him to tell the boys how his company sailed up the
Sacramento river in ’49, as they had never heard the facts related.
“Well” Julius replied, “de fac’ am, sah, dat before de Lord, I is
unwillin’ to gib de gemmen a girafic scription ob dat wonderful
currence, sah.”
When asked for his reason, he replied: “Dat it might hab de
tendency, sah, to frow some ’spicion upon de veracitude ob de honest
Forty-niners, sah.”
But upon being assured that the veracitude of the Forty-niners was
never doubted, he related that the company he was with numbered sixteen
altogether, and they left San Francisco in a large yawl boat for
Sacramento City about the middle of July ’49, and after pulling for
about two days in the hot sun, in the evening they made the boat fast
to a bush on the bank of the Sacramento River for the night.
“Well, gemmen,” he continued, “we soon found dat we had jes’ gone an’
tied up ’mongst de biggest an’ de awfulest lot of skeeters dat you eber
see in all your born days. Why, sah, we couldn’t cook nuffin, kase jes’
the minit we went to open de tater sack, dem skeeters would jes’ light
on it, an’ fly away wid ebery bless’d one ob ’em. Oh, I tells you,
gemmen, dem was a powerful breed ob skeeters an’ no mistake, regular
Forty-niners, suah.”
Some one enquired how they managed to cook?
He replied, “we cooked nuffin, an’ eat nuffin, kase jes’ de minit we
went to put de food in our moufs, dem savage reptiles would jes’ swoop
down wid dere long bills an’ grab it right away from us. Well, sah, so
we jes’ takes our sail an’ kivered ober the boat, an’ all hands turned
in ter sleep fo’ the night. But, gemmen, when we come fo’ to turn out
in de mornin’, an’ look out the tent we was jes’ de most astonished set
ob individuals, sah, dat you eber seen, kase we foun’ dat we had gone
an’ sailed up dat riber in the night sah; clar up to Sacramento City
fo’ suah; but how in de name ob de Lord we hed got up dar, was de mos’
’stonishing subjec’ for ’cussion sah.
“When we come for to ’vestigate, an’ take a view ob de situation, we
foun’ out jes’ de way ob de whole truff, fo’ jes’ as suah as you lib,
gemmen, dar was our line stretchin’ way out ahead ob de boat, sah, all
kivered ober wid dem immense insects; dem Forty-nine skeeters. You mus’
understand, gemmen, dat dat line ob ourn was a tarred rope, an’ de hot
wedder jes’ made it awful sticky. Well, you see dat dem skeeters went
an’ used dat ar tarred rope for der roos’ in de night, an’ when dey
feet was once on dat line dey was dar fo’ good. In de night, when de
boss skeeter ordered all hands up to tend to their duties, dey jes’
took de line an’ all along wid ’em right op de riber, an’ fo’ de Lord,
gemmen, dat was de way we done sailed up de Sacramento Riber.”
[Illustration: MOSQUITOES.]
Some one asked Julius about the size of them mosquitoes. He replied,
“Well, now, about de size ob dem animals, you is axin me too much, kase
we didn’t hab any rule or chalk line on de boat to measure dem wid; but
I tells yer for a fac’, gemmen, dat we kotched de whole lot ob ’em,
chopped of dare bills, sah; an’ sold ’em to de hotels in de city.”
When asked what use they made of them at the hotels, he said that they
used ’em fo’ toothpicks.
After bidding all hands good bye, and with an earnest wish that they
might all live to enjoy many such pleasant meetings and to talk about
old times, Julius departed.
“That story about the loaf of bread,” said Jeff, “reminds me of a
specimen of my cooking, once upon a time. It was up in Shasta County
along in the winter of ’50. There were four of us in company, and we
took regular turns to display our science in the cooking art. Well,
I concluded once, when it come my week to git up the grub, to give
the boys something new in the grub line, a regular old-fashioned
plum pudding, or plum-duff as they called it on board the ship on
our voyage around the Horn. I never had made one, but I had seen the
ship’s cook get them up, and I was confident that I could fix one up
in the same style, and I thought ’twas no trick at all. Just take some
flour, put it into a sack, slap in some water, you know; throw in some
salt, a little spice, a hunk of butter, and then some dried apples,
if there ain’t any raisins around, then some eggs, and that ends the
programme. Then shake ’em all together a spell, put the sack in the
kettle and let her bile till ’tis done, and you have got something
fit to eat, or anyway you oughter have if ’tis mixed all right; but,
boys, in making that duff I made a mistake somewhere; for after I had
biled it for about six hours, and come to put it on the table jest
to see how astonished the boys would look, I tell you what we were
all of us astonished to find that the derned thing was so tough that
we couldn’t cut it with a knife. So one of the boys, after chopping
off a slice of it with the axe to tap his boots with, threw it out of
the door and it rolled into a prospect hole, and ’twas good-bye duff
for a time, but not forever. A day of resurrection came for my duff.
’Twas about fifteen years afterwards that some miners at work there
ground-sluicing away the bank, found it. It was a great curiosity, for
no such spotted stone had ever been found around them diggings before,
and many opinions were given by those who claimed to be well posted in
geological science, and ’twas real interesting to hear them explain
what kind of mineral it was, and the different elements ’twas composed
of; how old it was, what era or period it belonged to, etc. Well, boys,
I could have told ’em very quick all about its age, eras, periods, and
its dufferdom elements, for I knew what it was the minute I see it, but
I didn’t want to let the cat out of the bag, for I was always sorry
that I let the duff out, so I kept shady. There was a little hollow
on one side, where one of the boys chopped the slice off to tap his
boots with, so the boys who found it used it for a number of years as
a mortar to prospect quartz with. Well, one day there was a scientific
man, a professor from some part of Europe, around viewing the country,
and hearing about the curious stone, he went to see it.
[Illustration: SCIENCE AND PLUM-DUFF.]
“After examining it carefully all over, he said:
“‘I would like to see ’em inside.’
“Well, they informed him that if he would buy it he could break it open
and see what was inside it. So he bought it for a trifle and he got one
of the boys to take a beetle and wedge and split it open.
“The Professor took the pieces up carefully in his hand, put on his
gold specks, and after looking at the stone for a minute, said:
“‘Oh, mine gracious, shentlemens, does you know vot I was found here;
dis vas vonderful; vo here in dis stone I does found dem leetle
commencements ov our lives.’
“Then he told us that the soft stuff that he found in the center of it
was spasms-splasms. It sounded something like photo, or protoplasms. He
was very much excited over it, and said he:
“‘I takes dis vonderful stone to Sharmany mit me, because you Americans
don’t understand about dese tings so mooch.’”
Some one asked Jeff if he had ever heard anything about the Professor
or his duff, since.
“Well,” says Jeff, “a short time ago I saw the picture in some
pictorial paper of a stone statue that was erected somewhere in Europe
in honor of some great scientific man who had recently died, and he
was holding in his outstretched hand a great round spotted stone. And,
boys, blamed if it didn’t look exactly like that same old plum-duff
that I biled for the boys up in Shasta nearly forty years ago, and I’ll
jest bet it was, too.”
Some one present asked Yank if his old pard, who was robbed of part
of his gold dust on his way home in ’51 on board of the steamship
“Illinois,” ever recovered it. Yank replied that he never did, and,
being requested to relate the particulars, he stated that his pard made
a visit to his friends in the East in the fall of ’51, and was robbed
on the way home by a gambler by the name of----.
“He took advantage when my pard had gone up on deck for a few minutes
and went to his bunk, cut open his valise and took from a buckskin belt
two purses containing $800 or $1,000. Miller was arrested upon arrival
in Panama and thoroughly searched, but nothing could be found upon him.
He had an accomplice on board who secreted it for him. Perhaps some
of you remember this man. He was not a regular gambler, but what they
called a bar-room scrub-gambler, and would, in company with a few
others of the same species, sit at a little table in one corner and
play poker for ten cents ante day and night. When my old pard decided
to return home this scrub-gambler concluded to go in the same steamer.”
[Illustration: THE MILLER TAKING AN UNJUST TOLL.]
Upon being assured by two or three present that they remembered the
great tall saloon bummer, Yank continued by saying that upon the
arrival of the steamer in New York his pard secured the services of
a detective to watch----., who was followed a few days after their
arrival into the banking house of Beebe & Co., on Wall street, where
he sold about $800 worth of gold dust. A description of the appearance
of certain specimens among the dust was given the detective, and he
found upon an examination of it that it answered the description and
was, no doubt, the stolen dust. The detective explained to the bank
clerk that the gold had been stolen, and requested that it be laid to
one side until he could send for the owner of it, but owing to some
misunderstanding among the clerks, when the detective returned with the
Forty-niner to the bank later in the day, they found that it had been
sent to the Mint in Philadelphia only an hour before. They therefore
boarded the next train, and, upon their arrival at the Mint, found that
they were about ten minutes too late; it had gone into the melting pot.
Upon some inquiry being made in regard to----, Yank stated that by a
person, who was acquainted with him, he was informed that the gambler
had prospered pretty well in life, had a family, was at present in good
health, and loved to boast among his acquaintances of the high and
exalted position that he once held as Alcalde and Justice of the Peace
in Hangtown, California, forty years ago.
Yank was asked if he ran across many of the old-timers during his late
prospecting expedition at the North?
He replied that he found them in almost every mining camp. “I met three
old acquaintances up in the Salmon River country that I hadn’t heard
from for more than thirty years, and they informed me of quite a number
who were at work in the Snake River country. Then I found some eight
or ten of the old Forty-niners up in the Cœur D’Alene silver region. I
met one whose name is Sam Black. He was a passenger in the ship “Gray
Eagle” from Philadelphia, in ’49, and at one time in early days worked
near Hangtown. Sam is now prospecting a silver ledge, and also working
Nine-mile Cañon with a bed rock flume, from which he expects to make
money enough to enable him to return once more to San Francisco and
spend the balance of his days among his acquaintances, for he thinks
he has done his share in tramping through cañons and over mountains,
hunting for mineral, and feels now like taking a rest. All of these
old-timers are confident now that they have at last struck the right
spot, and like the balance of the oldtime prospectors who are yet in
harness, they have magnificent prospects just a little ahead of them,
and are living in full expectation of one day in the near future
striking it immensely rich. They hope to have the satisfaction, at
least when it comes their turn to pass, even if they haven’t enjoyed
the pleasure during life of holding a full hand, to leave a good hand
and a big pot for the benefit of those who will take their places to
finish out the game.
“To the old-timers this is a great consolation, ain’t it, b’ys?”
“You bet it is,” was the general response.
[Illustration: THE DONKEY PROSPECTOR.]
“Oh, yes,” he replied, in answer to an inquiry, “there are a great many
Forty-niners now living in the State of Nevada; some are hunting for
mineral and quite a number are engaged in ranching. An old acquaintance
told me that he met quite a number of the old boys in the mining region
of Colorado, and a few of them in Utah.”
An old miner enquired of Yank what the prospects were up in the Cœur
D’Alene silver region. He replied that from what he saw up there he
was satisfied that it would prove to be a very rich mining region.
There are now a number of mines from which they are shipping tons of
ore daily, but the hills in this region have not yet been prospected
only to a small extent, and in my opinion many richer mines will be
yet discovered than they are working at present. Another one enquired
of him how they happened to discover this silver region, and who
made the first discovery. Yank stated that they were discovered by a
party of prospectors who came over the summit of the mountains from
the gold regions of Pritchard and Eagle creeks to prospect for gold.
These were a man by the name of Kellogg and the other was Phil O’Rouke.
They packed their tools and grub over upon a donkey. After prospecting
around for a few days among the ravines and cañons and finding nothing,
they concluded to return. When ready to return they found that their
donkey had strayed away and upon searching for him they discovered
him away upon the side of the mountain perched upon a mass of rock
or croppings of lava, as it appeared to be from a distance, but they
found to their astonishment and delight that this outcropping upon
which their donkey had taken his station was a solid mass of ore of
some character which they didn’t know the value of until they had it
properly assayed upon their return home. This mine, first discovered by
a donkey, is the Bunker Hill mine, situated near the town of Wardner.
Yank continued by saying that no prospecting can be done up in that
country in the winter season, owing to the intense cold and great depth
of snow, but there is no difficulty whatever in working a mine and of
shipping ore at any time, as a railroad is running convenient to the
great majority of the mines. One remarkable phenomenon I noticed in
that region was the absence of wind storms. The wind blows but seldom,
and the snow falls in large flakes right straight down, and remains
where it falls until the coming of the warm air current from the
Pacific Ocean, called, in this region, the Chenook, and the influence
of which is felt for some distance beyond the Rocky Mountains in this
latitude.
By the way, passing through the Cœur d’Alene mining region the remains
of an old road can be seen that was built by the Government some time
in ’61 or ’62 for the purpose of opening a communication for the
transportation of troops and stores between the Pacific Coast and the
East. This road was built from Walla-Walla, in Washington Territory,
to Fort Benton, Montana. Many of the old bridges, or rather the ruins
of them, can yet be seen, and are very numerous, for upon one portion
of the Cœur d’Alene River, from the town of Wallace to the town of
Mullan, a distance of nine miles, the river has to be crossed, I think,
fourteen times. The builder of this road, Mr. John Mullan, is at the
present time a
[Illustration: COASTING IN COUER D’ALENE.]
resident of the city of Washington, D. C., and engaged in the practice
of law.
Another phenomenon I noticed here was the new style of coasting (at
least to me) practiced by the girls and boys during the moonlight
evenings, their sleds consisting simply of deer skins. These would
be spread out upon the snow with the hair side down. At the starting
point, at the top of a steep hill, sitting down upon the skin, the
sides and ends would be drawn up as snug as possible, and when a number
were ready the signal would be given, and being assisted in the start
by the boys, away they go without regard to order or method. The fun
in this style of coasting does not consist so much in seeing who will
reach the foot of the hill first, but if they can descend and retain
their sitting posture, which is almost impossible, for the contact with
each other in their descent causes them to roll over and over, for the
hands are occupied in holding fast the ends of the deer skins, and to
roll is easy. Of course the scene at the foot of the hill, where the
boys and girls all finally meet upon one common level, and badly mixed,
is where the fun comes in.