A LETTER FROM COMSTOCK.
The following letter from H. T. P. Comstock was originally published in
the St. Louis _Republican_, some years ago, and gives a good idea of the
man and his mental condition during the latter years of his life. He was
always very eccentric, and even during the time he was in Washoe, in the
early days, was considered by many persons to be “a little cracked” in
the “upper story”—was a man flighty in his imaginings. The first part of
the letter, with the date, is lacking and was no doubt left off as being
merely introductory and unimportant, by the papers which republished it
after it reached the Pacific Coast. The letter was written from Butte
City, Montana. Some of Comstock’s statements are correct, but the
greater part of what he says is a mere jumble and shows a wavering mind.
His letter begins:
“These men, there in Washoe, are interested in misrepresenting the
facts about the Comstock lode; they fear my claims to the water, the
town site of Virginia and other interests they have swindled me out
of. It is just what they are afraid of exactly; and that’s what
everybody in Washoe is afraid of. I shall yet have my say, I am
writing a history of my life and all those fellows had better stand
from under. Now I want to tell the whole truth about the Comstock
lode: I’ll try to do it and I want you to publish it. If you are
gentlemen you will do it—it is nothing more than right. Here it is:
I, Henry Thomas Paige Comstock, first went to that country—the
Washoe—from Mexico, in 1853; roved all around California, and went
back to Mexico that year; went back then to Washoe, in the spring of
1854, and staid there. My home was in Santa Fe, when in Mexico. I, old
Joe Caldwell, Elmore & Co., partners of mine for twelve years, were
the first men who ever worked in that section.
Worked there in 1855-56 on surface-diggings, prospecting all the while
for silver ore. The Grosch brothers worked at what is now known as
Silver City. One of them, Hosea, stuck a pick in his foot and died in
my cabin. The other, Allen, died near Sugar-Loaf, California. This was
three years before the Comstock lode was discovered.
The first discovery of the Comstock lode was made in this way: In the
middle of January, 1859, I saw some queer-looking stuff in a gopher
hole; I ran my hand in and took out a handful of dirt and saw silver
and gold in it. At that time, big John Bishop and old Virginia were
with me, when I found it; they were sitting upon the side of the hill,
Gold Hill, a couple of hundred yards from me. I took up five claims. A
couple of weeks from that time, and where the Ophir is now located, I
found the same prospects, and told the boys at Gold Hill I was going
to work as good a mine as the first discovery; did not know at the
time there was a lead of that description there. Riley and M^cLaughlin
were working for me at the time of the Ophir discovery. I caved the
cut in and went after my party to take up the lead and form my
company. Manny Penrod, Peter Riley, Patrick M^cLaughlin, ‘Kentuck,’ or
Osborne, and myself formed a company. With my party I opened the lead,
and called it Comstock lode; that is the way they came by their
interests; I gave it to them.
We started to rocking with my water; had only a small quantity to rock
with. We made from five to ten and twelve pounds a day, and the dust
was from $9 to $12 an ounce—went that at Brewster’s bank, Placerville,
California, where I did my business.
I continued owning the claim, locating 1,400 feet out for myself, for
the use of my water to the company. I also located the Savage claim;
showed the ground to old man Savage. I located the Gould & Curry—went
into the valley and got old Daddy Curry to come down, and put him in
possession of it.
I also owned the Hale & Norcross, and kept Norcross for a year to work
in that ground. I also owned the principal part in Gold Hill and
leased it out to Walsh and Woodruff—leased to them 950 for 760—don’t
now remember which. Now I will tell you how I sold it; it has never
been told as it ought to be told throughout the United States for my
benefit, and it shall be.
Sandy Bowers, I gave him his claim of 20 feet in Gold Hill. Bill
Knight, I gave him his claim; Joe Plato, I gave him his. Joe is dead
now, and his widow is awful rich.
I was working this claim, the Ophir, and taking out a good deal of
ore; I did not know what the ore was worth, being in the wilderness
then, with no road to get out or into from California. It was an awful
wilderness! I took several tons of the ore and transported it by
ox-teams, to best advantage through the mountains of California, and
Judge Walsh was my agent and helped me.
Now during this time I was taking out large gold and silver specimens,
and took one specimen, weighing 12 pounds, and boxed it up and ordered
it sent to Washington City. I instructed John Musser, a lawyer at
Washoe, to send it; I don’t know whether it ever reached there or not.
I wanted Congress to see it, and the President, for it was the first
gold and silver ore mixed ever found in the United States.
I went on working, and Judge Walsh and Woodruff were there for two
months, trying every day to buy me out. My health being bad I sold the
claim to them on these terms: I was to get $10,000, and did get it at
last; and I was to receive one-eleventh of all that ever came out of
the claim during my natural life, and at my death was to will it to
whoever I pleased; also, to receive $100 per month.
That was the contract; and two men, Elder Bennett and Manny Penrod,
witnessed it; but my health was bad, and before I had the contract of
sale recorded, Woodruff and Walsh sold it out. Having taken no lien on
the property, I never got a dollar, from that day to this, except what
was at first received.
I am a regular born mountaineer, and did not know the intrigues of
civilized rascality. I am not ashamed to acknowledge that. Well, I had
a store in Carson City and was lying in the back room sick and
helpless. I told Ed. Belcher to take all my papers, and the contract
between Judge Walsh and Woodruff and myself, and put them under my
pillow. I could speak, but couldn’t help myself a bit. They all said I
would die, and said: ‘Boys, let’s pitch in and help ourselves!’ And
they did pitch in; and I never saw the papers afterwards. And the Gold
Hill I leased to Walsh and Woodruff; and then Frink and Kincaid got
it, and I never got anything for it; and the 160 acres of ground on
which Virginia City is built is my old recorded ranche. I used to
raise all my potatoes and vegetables on it, and had the Indians do the
work for me.
Virginia City was first called Silver City. I named it at the time I
gave the Ophir claim its name. Old Virginia and the other boys got on
a drunk one night there, and Old Virginia fell down and broke his
bottle, and when he got up he said he baptized that ground
Virginia—hence Virginia City—and that is the way it got its name. At
that time there were a few tents, a few little huts, and a grog-shop;
that was all there was. I was camped under a cedar-tree at that time—I
and my party.
I am now living at Butte City, in Montana Territory. The quartz in
Montana is very rich quartz, and the Cable claim is next to the
Comstock, but gold in place of silver. There is a greater variety of
minerals in Montana than in any country I have ever explored. There
are tin mines here. I discovered them myself; and there are alabaster
mines here. Silver, vastly rich, and gold very rich. The Flint Creek
mines—oh, God! how rich! This is bound to be a rich country, but we
are a long way from market and have to go slow.
And the Butte mines, too, they are vastly rich, but very much mixed
with other metals—that is, a great many of them—and Highland has a
good many rich leads now open and opening.
[Illustration: H. T. P. COMSTOCK.]
This is a country second to none on the globe, in point of mineral
wealth and in the precious metals. Now, you newspaper men have got me
in your papers, I want to say a word about myself. I am a man that has
been through the wars. I was in the Black Hawk war; was with Black
Hawk when he died. I was in the Mexican war, and all through in the
patriot war in Canada; had three brothers in it—I was the youngest;
they are all dead now.
I am the son of old Noah Comstock, living in Cleveland, Ohio. He has
been largely engaged in the lumber and hotel business there. I have
been in the wilderness since a child; was bound to the American Fur
Company; my boss died and that’s the way I got with old Black Hawk. My
first recollection was packing traps; trapped all over Canada,
Michigan, and Indiana; but the Rocky Mountains have been my home; I
have been a guide these years and years. I was born in Canada, and am
now near fifty years of age.
HENRY T. P. COMSTOCK.”
James Fennimore, better known as James Finney and familiarly called “Old
Virginia,” by all the old settlers of Washoe, he being a native of the
State of Virginia, came to the mines on Gold Cañon, in 1851. He came
from the Kern River country, California, where he had a “difficulty”
with a man, and, believing he had killed him, took a little walk across
the Sierra Nevada Mountains, dropping the name of Fennimore and calling
himself James Finney.
Although fond of the bottle, Old Virginia was by no means a loafer. He
had his sprees, but these were generally followed by seasons of great
activity.
He was very fond of hunting, and when not engaged in mining or
prospecting he was ranging the mountains and valleys in search of deer,
antelope, and mountain sheep. He was interested in nearly all the
enterprises of the early Johntown and Gold Hill mines but missed being
in the Ophir at the time of the discovery of silver, having sold his
interest in the Six-mile Cañon diggings the previous season.
He was killed in the town of Dayton, in July, 1861, by being thrown from
a “bucking” mustang that he was trying to ride while a good deal under
the influence of liquor. He was pitched head first upon the ground,
suffered a fracture of the skull, and died in a few hours. At the time
of his death he was possessed of about $3,000 in coin and had been
talking of returning soon to his native State.
I one day met a Piute Indian in Virginia City who recollected both
Comstock and Old Virginia very well. Fifteen or twenty stalwart Indians,
who had been engaged at driving wood and timber on the Carson River, had
visited Virginia for the purpose of expending their earnings in the
purchase of blankets and other staples. Among the number was an Indian
who appeared to be forty-five or fifty years of age. Something that he
said about the changed appearance of the place induced me to ask him how
long he had known the town.
“Well,” said he, speaking pretty fair English, “long time. When me first
come here, no house here; all sagebrush. Me work here first time me come
for Old Birginey (Old Virginia). Yes; me work for Old Birginey down in
Six-mile Cañyum.”
“At mining?” I asked.
“Yes; minin’. Me heap pull um rocker. Me that time know Comstock—Ole
Comstock. You Sabe him?”
“Yes;” said I, “have seen him. He is dead now. Got broke, up in Montana;
bad luck all the time; got crazy and shot himself through the head with
a pistol.”
“Hum! Ole Comstock dead,” said the old warrior musingly, “dead! Well,
Ole Comstock owe me fifty-five dollar. That money gone now. Well, same
way Ole Birginey. He owe me forty-five dollar when he die.”
“How did he die?” I asked.
“Well, you see he die down to Dayton long time ago. Ole Birginey he all
time drink too much whisky. One day he bully drunk, he get on pony; pony
he run, he buck one bully buck and Ole Birginey go over pony head. One
foot stay in stirrup and pony drag ole man on ground and kill him. Me
help dig one grave, bury Ole Birginey, down Dayton, by Carson River.
Well, well,” said the old redskin, reflectively, “hoss kill um Ole
Birginey, Comstock he kill heself. Comstock owe me fifty-five dollar;
Ole Birginey owe me forty-five dollar! Me think,” shaking his head,
“maybe both time too much whisky!” The sage old Piute was mistaken as
regarded Comstock; he was a man who drank but little.