THEIR NAMES UNKNOWN--THE TYPES OF MEN IN THE MINES--PIKE’S
ILLUSTRATION OF MISSOURI CHARACTER--BOB THE FIDDLER--THE POWER OF
MUSIC ILLUSTRATED--JOHN KELLEY THE MUSICIAN--JOE BOWERS--JEFF VISITS
PIONEER HALL--OLD MINERS IN SAN FRANCISCO.
During a lull in the conversation about this time, it was mentioned by
an old miner as a singular circumstance, that although the old-timers
present had been acquainted with each other for nearly forty years, he
would bet his old blind mule, that was hitched to the fence outside,
“agin a chew of tobacco,” they couldn’t tell the names of one another,
which was found upon trial to be the case.
“Well, boys,” said Yank, “in old times we didn’t ask the name of a
man; but whar are you from was the main question, the information to
be desired, and many had become so accustomed to satisfying their
curiosity upon this point that in course of time it was possible to
tell with some certainty what State a man was from by his general
appearance. For in those early times, when the various States were more
thinly settled than at present, the individuals of each State possessed
some peculiarity of form, feature, or, their pronunciation of certain
words, by which they could be distinguished, that is, by any one who
took the trouble to study the differences between them. For instance,
an acquaintance of mine in early days who had from curiosity studied
the peculiarities of the emigrants from the various States, said that
he could tell, as soon as he laid his eyes upon a new comer, what State
the latter was from.
“There” said he, “do you see them chaps a-digging that tail race by
the foot of the hill? Well, they are from away down East, the State of
Maine. See, they are large, heavy framed, tall and awkward in their
movements, and when they walk their long arms swing about like the arms
of a windmill. Notice how angular their bodies are. That is caused
by friction in circulating about among the granite boulders of their
native State. The Vermonters are tall, like their neighbors, but of
better build. Now down yonder beyond the bridge you notice a number of
men at work. Well that first gang is from Massachusetts, and the gang
below them comes from Connecticut. Now, you see, although they are all
New Englanders, yet they differ very much from the boys of Maine. They
are, as a general rule, of shorter stature, with short arms, and more
compactly built. But although the boys from the New England States
differ very much in their general appearance, yet there is one trait
peculiar to them, by which, as a general rule they can be distinguished
from the boys of many of the other States, I mean of course here in
the mining regions, and that is they are industrious, and are little
inclined to waste their time in loafing around among the saloons and
gambling houses.
“There, do you see them boys over there upon the other side of the
creek. Now, they are from Ohio. There is no mistaking their native
State, for they have all that peculiar look, form and build.
“They are, as a rule, above the medium in height; heavy built, broad
shouldered, but bones small and compact, with full faces and almost
always with a round head and nose of the snub order.
“Like the New England boys, they are generally industrious and do not
fool away much time around among the liquor shops. Now do you see
those chaps over there by the mill. Well, their State is near Ohio,
yet they are a different class of people. The difference is that when
you run afoul of a man of that appearance, you can just bet he is from
the State of Illinois. You see that the most of them have strait sandy
hair, with whiskers to match, sharp features, and as a general rule
wear freckles upon their countenances; but then they are industrious,
and good natured. And now” said he, “where do you suppose those boys
are from, who are building the log cabin on the point below there? Do
you notice their sharp features, coarse, strait black hair and that
they are slim built and round shouldered too? Well, them chaps are from
New Jersey. Now just observe the difference between them and the two
chaps coming up the trail beyond with their mining tools upon their
shoulders. Now, there is a type of man different in many respects from
all others who come into the mining regions. You notice that they are
tall, but heavy built, and walk erect like soldiers on parade. They
have sandy hair; ’tis rather long and you notice that ’tis inclined to
curl, with chin whiskers and mustache to match. You notice also that
they wear a pleasant smile, an indication that they are good natured,
and so they are; but if a chap for any reason sees fit to intimate to
one of them that he is a prevaricator, he must break the news to him
gently, in a kind of a quiet subdued sort of style, from a distance, or
from the opposite side of a big stump, for the application of the term
‘liar’ to one of that breed of men, will cause a monstrous bowie-knife
to fly from his boot leg, and woe to the man it is aimed at.”
“Yes,” interrupted Tennessee, “that reminds me of a Dutchman up on Bear
river, in ’50, who had some trouble with one of those chaps about a
mining claim, and he said to one of them ‘you vas told von big lie.’ As
the Dutchman saw him reach down for his bowie knife, he started to run,
but the knife was too quick for him, and the heavy ivory handle struck
him alongside of his head and knocked him down. He saw the flash of the
sun upon the polished blade as it came towards him, and when he became
conscious, some one asked what was the matter?
“‘Oh, mine gracious,’ he answered; ‘some big flash of dose lightnings
shust comes after mit me, und I dinks dot I vas dunder struck.’
“Well those boys are from Mississippi. But few of them however, ever
came into the mining regions. They were generous and free hearted, and
a fair specimen of American character from that portion of the country.”
Yank resumed by saying that although ’twas often difficult to tell with
certainty what State a man was from by his general appearance, yet a
Northern man could almost always be distinguished from one who was of
Southern birth.
“To illustrate” continued he, “my old pard said, There do you see
the boys standing there in front of the cabin? They are rather tall,
strait, with short black hair, their complexion rather dark, and you
notice that they have no beards; the cheek bones are high too. Now,
those boys are from the Blue Grass regions of Kentucky; full of fun,
and would rather climb around among the mountains and cañons, with
their heavy rifles on their shoulders, than to work at mining in the
hot sun.”
It being evident now that Yank had concluded his explanation of the
various types of men found in the mining region in early days, old
Pike arose to his feet and demanded to know if he meant to insult his
native State by passing over it and not noticing it at all.
“Why,” said he, “haint we got no keracter at all down thar?”
Yank answered him that as he was present to speak for his own State he
ought to do so, and they would listen to him.
“Well,” said Pike, “there was a right smart chance of our boys from
old Missouri thet come out inter Californy long in ’50, an’ I tell
ye, boys, thet dern my buttons if I jest wern’t ashamed of some on
’em myself. But them Pike County chaps was from the frontier, yer
know, and of course er couldn’t expect anything better. But when yer
come to talk about Missouri keracter in general, boys, an’ of them
old-fashioned forty-year ago chaps, ther real stub an’ twist style of
Missouri gentlemen, why, if yer jest mix together every good pint that
yer can find in all ther rest on ’em from ther t’other States, bile
’em all down in a big kittle, an’ when ‘its cooled down a spell take
off the kiver, an’ yer’ll find in the bottom on it one of yer rale
old-fashioned Missouri gentlemen, cooked clean through, too, you bet.
Thar wern’t no marrer in ther backbones nuther, cause they was chuck
full ’er sand, an’ ther wern’t no room for marrer, and they didn’t
hev no superiors any whar. Now, thet’t my opinion of them chaps in
Missouri. What’s yer opinion, pard?”
“Oh, well,” replied Yank, “if we take you for a sample, Pike, maybe you
are not far out of the way.”
Yank asked Jersey if he had ever, during his travels around the
country, come across one of his old pardners whom they called Bob the
Fiddler.
“Yes,” answered Jersey, “but he went East about fifteen years ago, with
quite a fortune that he made up on the Trinity River. He was a fine
young chap, but some of the boys in the company were terribly down on
him when we first went into the mines in ’49. You see, before we sailed
from New York there were ten of us who concluded to form a company
by ourselves and work together, just as a great many others did who
came around Cape Horn, and who intended to go into the mines. These
companies were nearly all broken up upon their arrival in the mines,
because it was soon found that there were many lazy ones among them who
were not willing to do their share of the work. But our company seemed
to get
[Illustration: “I VAS DUNDER STRUCK.”]
along first rate, and every man was willing to do his part of the work
except Bob. We worked together as a company, however, for nearly two
years, until some of the boys concluded to go home again. When we first
commenced mining we came pretty near breaking up on account of Bob,
but fortunately we did not, and I’ll explain why we didn’t. You see
we were working a rich claim in Georgetown cañon in the fall of ’49;
’twas good ounce diggings, and we were all anxious to get out all we
could before the heavy rains commenced in the winter, but the trouble
was that Bob wouldn’t do his share of the work, and consequently
there was a good deal of grumbling, and four or five of the boys were
determined not to divide with him a share of our week’s work upon the
Saturday night following, and declared that if he was paid a share of
it they would quit and break up the company. Now. Bob was a first rate
fellow, good natured and always full of his jokes and fun; was always
ready and willing to run errands or work about the cabin, but he was
not used to hard work and would only work in the mine a few hours each
day. But Bob was a good fiddler and singer, and I tell you, boys, after
the day’s work was done we liked to hear him start in on his music.
Well, fiddle-strings were a scarce article up in the mines then, and
some of Bob’s strings breaking we had to get along without music for
awhile; but one Saturday Bob heard of a man who worked in a cañon a
few miles above, and who had just come up from San Francisco, bringing
an assortment of fiddle-strings with him. This was good news for Bob,
so he threw down his pick and shovel about ten o’clock A.M. and made
tracks for the cañon.
“It was then that the dissatisfied ones determined that Bob should
either leave the company or they would, for they had made up their
minds not to work any more for a man who wouldn’t do his share.
“The balance of us, however, thought too much of Bob to have him turned
out of the company, and agreed if they would overlook Bob’s faults
that we would work a little harder to make up for his delinquency. We
were thus engaged in talking and endeavoring to arrange the difficulty
along in the afternoon, when we heard the sound of Bob’s violin up on
the hill above. Upon looking up we saw him seated upon a log under the
shade of an oak. We all stopped work and seated ourselves upon the most
convenient places
[Illustration: BOB, THE FIDDLER.]
to listen to the music, and for more than two hours we sat there
listening to the old familiar tunes, played and sung by Bob, of ‘Auld
Lang Syne,’ ‘Sweet Home,’ ‘Ben Bolt,’ ‘Do They Miss Me at Home,’ ‘The
Old Folks at Home,’ as well as other songs that we had often heard
among our friends and acquaintances at home. Well, the effect of this
was that upon making a division at night Bob received his full share.
Not a word of complaint was made against him by anyone then or ever
afterwards, and he was given to understand that if he would, after the
day’s work was done and we had lighted our pipes for the evening smoke,
make our lonely evenings more cheerful by playing the old familiar
airs, that he could jest work when or as little as he pleased on the
claim.”
At this point an old-timer, who previous to this had been silent,
remarked that but few persons are aware of the wonderful power of
music, and its effect upon the mind under certain conditions. But of
course we do not realize its magic influence except when placed as we
were in early days so far from home and living, as you might say, in
a semi-civilized condition among the mountains of a new country, that
these old familiar songs that we heard in our younger days seem to
strike with full force, and awaken memories that have lain dormant for
many years perhaps.
“I remember a little incident,” he continued, “that occurred in early
days in a small mining camp upon Murderer’s Bar on the Middle Fork of
the American River, which illustrates this wonderful power of music.
“A young man from one of the Southern States was mining upon the bar.
He had a good paying claim, but he got to drinking and spent most of
his time loafing around among the saloons, and in a few months he
got down about as low as ’twas possible for a man to get. He was in
one of the gambling saloons one evening in company with two or three
others who were about as low and degraded as he was, sitting at a table
engaged in their usual game of poker, when all at once he arose to his
feet and stood attentively listening to the music, a song that was
being sung, and played on a violin, at the other end of the room. At
the conclusion of the song he threw his cards upon the floor, and said
that he had played his last card and drank his last drink, for that
song that John Kelly had just sung had brought him to his senses, for
’twas the last piece he heard his sister sing when he left home a few
years before.
[Illustration: POWER OF MUSIC.]
“‘And, boys,’ said he, ‘from this time forward I lead a different
life.’”
It was remarked by another that this same John Kelly was yet living, he
believed.
He was a good musician as well as singer, and in early days played
around in all the various mining camps.
“Why,” said Jeff, “I have known miners who had worked hard all day to
tramp several miles into camp through mud and rain to hear Kelly play
and sing some favorite song that their sisters, or some other fellow’s
sister, had been accustomed to sing a few years before away at the
other side of the continent.”
Some one asked old Pike if he had forgotten the song entitled “Joe
Bowers” that he used to sing to the boys in Georgetown cañon in early
days. He replied that he hadn’t sung it for many long years, but if
they desired to hear it he would sing it. The desire being unanimous,
he seated himself upon the table, and in a clear voice sang the old and
long-forgotten ballad, and as it may be new to many and will recall to
old-timers the scenes and incidents of early days, I give the words for
their benefit:
JOE BOWERS.
My name it is Joe Bowers. I’ve got a brother Ike;
I came from old Missouri, yes, all the way from Pike.
I’ll tell you why I left thar, and how I came to roam,
And leave my poor old mammy so fur away from home.
I used to court a girl thar, her name was Sally Black,
I axed her if she’d marry me, she said it was a whack;
But then says she, “Joe Bowers, before we hitch for life.
You ought to git a little home to keep yer little wife.”
Oh, Sally, dearest Sally! oh, Sally, for your sake,
I’ll go to California and try to raise a stake.
Says she to me, “Joe Bowers, you are the man to win,
Here’s a kiss to bind the bargain,” and she hove a dozen in.
When I got to that country I hadn’t “nary red,”
I had such woolfish feelings I almost wished I was dead;
But the thoughts of my dear Sally soon made them git,
And whispered hopes to Bowers--I wish I had ’em yit.
Right soon I went to minin’, put in my biggest licks,
Came down upon the boulders jest like a thousand o’ bricks.
I worked both late and early, in sun, in rain, in snow,
I was workin’ for my Sally--’twas all the same to Joe.
Bime by I got a letter from my dear brother Ike;
It came from old Missouri--all the way from Pike;
It brought to me the derndest news that ever you did hear--
My heart is almost burstin’, so pray excuse this tear.
It said Sal was false to me, her love for me had fled,
She’d got married to a butcher; the butcher’s head was red,
And more than than, the letter said--it almost makes me swar--
That Sally had a baby, and the baby had red har.
So now I’ve told you all about this very sad affair,
’Bout Sally marryin’ a butcher, a butcher with red har;
But whether it ’taws a boy or a gal child, the letter never said,
It only said the baby’s har was “inclined to be red.”
* * * * *
Some years have passed since Bowers told his very plaintive tale;
Time smoothed his grief, revived his hopes, his courage did not fail;
He worked along as best he could, and his dear brother Ike
Kept Joseph pretty well posted on matters back in Pike.
Smallpox it knocked the butcher out, and Joe he wandered home;
He “played for even” with success, and cares no more to roam;
Joe married Sally and the shop, he soothed her loving heart,
And now he has her red-haired son to drive the butcher cart.
“Oh, by the way, Jeff,” asked one of the boys, “did you visit Pioneer
Hall when you was down to the Bay?”
“Yes, indeed, I did,” answered Jeff, “and an acquaintance of mine
handed in my name for admission as a member of the society.”
“They say ’tis a fine building, Jeff.”
“Yes, it is, and it is the headquarters for the old boys to meet and
talk over old times.”
“Well, are there many old miners among them?” asks another.
“No, I don’t think there are, boys. I saw a great many of the old
pioneers around, but none of them looked as though they ever roughed it
much in the mines.”
“Oh, well,” said Jersey, “living down there you know, sporting store
clothes and such things, of course, would make the old miners appear
more like gentlemen, you know, in a little while.”
“Oh, yes,” remarked Pike, “and maybe when we go down thar, boys, and
put on ther biled shirt and tother fixins, why they’ll take us for
gentlemen, too. You bet they will.”
“One sight I saw there,” remarked Jeff, “which astonished me very
much, was the children of the pioneers. They held a fandango there in
the hall upon the evening of admission day, and from curiosity I just
dropped in for a few minutes to see the little folks enjoy themselves.
Children! well, boys, you would be astonished to see them, for instead
of a lot of little children, as I expected to see, why the most of them
were men and women and married, too, many of them; just think of it,
for it is only a short time ago, apparently, that we all landed here as
mere boys. It shows how old Father Time is hustling us along, whilst we
are tramping about among the hills, thinking all the time that we are
just keeping a little ahead of him. But, boys, we ain’t though.
“As soon as I laid my eyes on that crowd of young, second-crop
Forty-niners, says I, ‘Jeff, old Time is close after you,’ and I have
felt ever since just like one of them ancient fossils that they have in
the museums.”
One of the boys enquired if he saw many of the boys down there whom we
used to know around in the mines.
“Well,” he answered, “I reckon I did. Why, San Francisco is chock full
of ’em.”
“What are they doing?” “Well, now, I couldn’t answer that question.
Some of them are doing one thing and some another, and doing all kinds
of things and odd jobs to make a livin’; but I tell you ’tis hard work
for some of ’em. You know how we often wondered what had become of lots
of them chaps that we mined with up in old Hangtown, Forest Hill, and
other diggin’s. Well, there they all are, or the most of them. When the
mines give out, or they got tired of prospecting, they just put for
the big city to strike a job of some kind, and I tell you, I kinder
pitied some of ’em. They have such a woebegone and old-fashioned,
one-hundred-years-ago kind of look about ’em, hanging round the
wharves, anywhere, looking for a job. I tried to get some of ’em to
come along up here with me, and offered to pay their expenses up. Told
’em there was lots of places where they could pan out or cradle a
first-rate livin’, and told ’em, too, how they could jest fence in a
few acres of ground, set out some fruit trees, make a good garden, and
live like lords. But they reckoned ’twas too far off and they couldn’t
get back to spend their evenings in town with the boys.”
[Illustration: JEFF IN THE HALL.]