THE SOCIAL ASPECT OF THE TERRITORY.
In 1862-3, with mills running in all directions and mines open and
hoisting ore for a distance of a mile or more along the Comstock,
Virginia City was a lively place. Where but two or three years before
was nothing but a rocky slope covered with sage-brush and scrub cedar,
were now to be seen large fire-proof brick and stone buildings, and
streets crowded with men and teams.
As all goods were at that time brought across the mountains by teams,
and as hundreds of teams were required to haul ore from the mines to the
mills, and to bring wood and timber from the hills and mountains, as
well as to do all kinds of local freighting, there often occurred most
vexatious blockades in the streets. A jam of teams would take place,
owing to some accident or to mismanagement on the part of some teamster,
and teams rolling in from each side, there would soon be seen a regular
blockade. These blockades were of daily occurrence and sometimes lasted
for hours. Teamsters waiting for the road to open grew hungry, and
producing their lunch-pails sat on their wagons and ate dinner, still
waiting patiently for the blockade to be broken. Half a dozen
stage-lines were running into the place, and these arrived loaded down
with passengers—capitalists, miners, “sports,” thieves, robbers, and
adventurers of all kinds. Cutting, shooting, and rows of every
description became of much more frequent occurrence than at any time in
the early days. The stages on all the roads leading to the city were
very frequently robbed by masked men, who halted the driver with
revolvers or double-barrelled shot-guns and called upon him to hand out
Wells, Fargo & Co’s treasure-box. One driver was halted so often and
became so well acquainted with the routine of the business, that
whenever he happened upon a man with a shot-gun, he went down into the
boot of his vehicle for the treasure-box. The usual plan of the robbers,
after securing the treasure-box, was to form the passengers in line by
the roadside, and while one masked robber stood guard over them with a
shot-gun, another would search them and relieve them of their coin,
watches, and other valuables. After this ceremony they would be ordered
on board the stage and told to “go along.”
The stages were robbed scores of times, bars of bullion, coin, and all
manner of valuables being taken. It was finally ascertained that the
gang who did most of this work—indeed, made it a regular business—were
men living on Six-mile Cañon, only about five miles from Virginia City.
They were ostensibly engaged in mining and had leased a mill, but the
bars they produced were those captured in their raids upon the stages.
The mill was only a blind. Without it they would not have dared to
dispose of their stolen bars. The capture of stage-coaches being
considered not quite up to the genius of the gang, they finally took a
whole train of cars on the Central Pacific Railroad, and got a spoil of
over $50,000. But this was their last exploit. All were soon captured
and the greater part of the stolen treasure recovered.
On the ridge between Virginia City and Gold Hill, called the “Divide,”
and forming the suburbs of both towns, was for some years a place where
footpads prowled nightly, and robberies there were of constant
occurrence. A belated Gold Hiller would be hurrying to his home when a
man would suddenly step out from behind a lumber-pile and tell him to
hold up his hands. With a cocked pistol pointed at his head the Gold
Hiller, or any other man, uniformly obeyed the order, when he was
quickly relieved of his loose change and told to “move on.” A footpad
would sometimes rob three or four men in quick succession in this way,
provided they happened along one at a time. They were quite industrious,
and were not the men to borrow or beg while they were able to make a
living by the labor of their hands.
On one occasion a Virginian was coming up over the Divide from Gold Hill
late at night. He had three twenty-dollar gold pieces in his breeches’
pocket, and, happening to be sauntering along with his hands in his
pockets, had the coin in his hand. Suddenly a masked man stepped before
him and thrusting a pistol into his face, cried: “Hold up your hands,
sir!” The gentleman held both hands high above his head, when the
footpad searched his pockets and found nothing. The gentleman had closed
his hand upon the three “twenties” and held them above his head while
submitting to the search. The footpad was evidently much disappointed,
as he said: “If you ever come along here again without any money, I’ll
take you a lick under the butt of the ear. That’s what I’ll do with
you!”
One night a stout young German was passing over the Divide, when he was
suddenly confronted by two masked robbers, one of whom placed a
six-shooter at his head. The level-headed German just reached out and
twisted the pistol out of the robber’s hand; whereupon he and his
partner in the business of collecting tolls from belated travelers took
to their heels, zigzagging and dodging industriously in the expectation
that a bullet would be sent after them. Some one asked the young German
what put it into his head to go for the pistol. “Py dunder,” said he, “I
did vant him; because in der spring, you see, I goes to der Bannock
country!”
Although few dead bodies were found on the roads, it is supposed that
many murders were committed about this time, the majority of the victims
being strangers in the country; yet not a few well-known residents of
the State have from time to time mysteriously disappeared. Almost every
year the remains of human beings are found in old shafts. Inquests are
held by the coroner of the county, but the remains are generally so much
decomposed that they cannot be identified, and the witnesses summoned
can only make mention of the several men known to them who have at
various times suddenly and unaccountably disappeared. In one old shaft,
when work was resumed on it after the lapse of some years, no less than
three dead bodies of men were found. Pieces of rope were found tied
about the arms and legs, as though for the purpose of making the bodies
up into a bundle convenient for transportation to the shaft. This shaft
was located below the town of Gold Hill, a short distance from a road on
which there were few houses. Many persons have also, no doubt,
accidentally walked into these old abandoned shafts, which everywhere
cover the face of the country, in the night or in the winter, when their
mouths were covered with drifts of snow. There are many instances of
this where persons have narrowly escaped death.
In Virginia City and other Washoe towns many goats are kept by families
for their milk. There are hundreds of goats to be seen everywhere on the
hills and mountains. The goat is an animal that is fond of caves and
caverns. De Foe was right in putting an old goat into a dark cavern, in
his “Robinson Crusoe.” The goats in Washoe constantly frequent the old
tunnels high up on the side of Mount Davidson and other mountains. In
many of these tunnels, at a distance of from two hundred to five hundred
feet from the mouth, vertical shafts have been sunk, to the depth of
from one hundred to two or three hundred feet. It often happens that the
goats, in the darkness of the old tunnels, walk into these shafts. Some
years ago a man living on Gold Cañon went out to look up a strayed goat.
He found the fresh tracks of goats leading into an old tunnel, and
ventured in. In walking back along the tunnel in the darkness he fell
into a shaft in its bottom. The shaft was about eighty feet in depth,
and he would probably have been instantly killed, but that there were at
the bottom the bodies of four or five dead goats; as it was, he had an
arm and a leg broken.
The man being missed, his neighbors turned out in search of him. They
found his tracks leading into the tunnel and went in after him, in
Indian file. Suddenly the head man disappeared, he having in the dim
light of the place, stepped into the mouth of the old shaft. From the
groans heard below his friends knew that he had not been killed, and at
once procured a windlass and rope and descended to his rescue, when, to
their surprise, they found that they had two men in the bottom of the
shaft. The man who last fell in had a leg broken, and by his fall came
so near jolting the life out of the man of whom they at first came in
search, that when first taken out it was thought he was dead.
In Virginia City, some men who were one day at work in a lumber-yard,
concluded it would be a good plan to pile a lot of boards over the mouth
of an old shaft that was in a part of the yard, not far from the
principal street leading to the town of Gold Hill. After they had
commenced the work, one of the men said that as he put down a plank he
thought that he heard a groan in the shaft. All listened. After a time
another man said he had heard what seemed to be a faint moan at the
bottom of the shaft. All again listened, and hearing nothing more were
about to go on with their work, when there came up from the bottom of
the shaft a deep groan that was heard by all. A windlass was procured,
and on descending the shaft a man was found lying at its bottom in an
unconscious condition. He was brought to the surface, when it was found
that he had a leg broken in two places, and was badly cut and bruised in
many parts of his body. He was a man weighing about 180 pounds, and had
fallen a distance of over one hundred feet. He proved to be an engineer
employed at one of the mills at Silver City, and finally fully
recovered. He remembered nothing about falling into the shaft; he only
remembered that on a certain day he was in Virginia City and started for
home very drunk. From this it was shown that he had been in the shaft
three days and nights when found. He stated, that while in the shaft he
regained his consciousness for a time, and to some extent comprehended
his situation, as, looking about, he saw the walls of the shaft and the
light of day at its top. When he recovered he “swore off” drinking—never
would drink another drop as long as he lived—and did not get drunk again
for nearly a month.
[Illustration: “HOLD UP YOUR HANDS!”]
[Illustration: A BONANZA OF BEEF.]
One day a boy about six years of age was lost at Virginia City. His
parents and their neighbors searched in vain for the missing child. The
police turned out to their assistance, and many firemen and miners
joined in the search. Bell-ringers had been through the city, and every
place above ground had been searched. A dog had accompanied the boy when
he left home, and this dog was also missing. Finally some one went up on
the side of the mountain above town, and entered an old tunnel, in the
floor of which was a vertical shaft over one hundred and fifty feet in
depth. Calling at the mouth of this shaft, a faint cry was heard below.
A windlass was hastily rigged, and a miner descended the shaft, and at
its bottom found the missing child with not a bone broken. He had fallen
upon the dead bodies of two or three goats that lay at the bottom of the
shaft. The dog was also found alive at the bottom of the shaft. The man
who descended was almost suffocated when he came to the surface. The air
was bad in the bottom of the shaft and the stench from the dead goats
almost unendurable. The child was nearly dead when taken out, and was
covered with a mass of flies that had insinuated themselves into his
mouth, nose, ears, and eyes; but in about ten days the little fellow had
fully recovered and was ready for fresh adventures.
Many other instances—scores of them—might be given to show the dangerous
character of these traps, which everywhere cover the face of the
country, for miles about the principal mining towns, but I shall
conclude with the following:
A teamster, stopping at noon two or three miles from the city, unhitched
eight yoke of oxen from his wagon, in order to let them graze about
among the sage-brush while he was eating his dinner. Although unhitched,
they were fastened together in a string by a heavy log-chain which
passed through their several yokes. The teamster, seated on his wagon,
eating, was astounded at seeing his whole team of cattle, then distant
about one hundred yards, suddenly disappear into the ground. In picking
along they reached an old shaft, round which those in the lead had
passed, then moving forward had so straightened the line as to pull a
middle yoke into the mouth of the shaft. All then followed, going down
like links of sausage. The shaft was three hundred feet in depth, and
that bonanza of beef still remains unworked at its bottom.
The Comstock range is a region in which a stranger should never venture
to wander at night, either on foot or on horseback. Even in daylight, in
the midst of a driving snow-storm, a man once rode his horse into a
shaft over fifty feet in depth. The city authorities have caused most of
the old shafts to be filled up or securely planked over, but scores of
open shafts are still to be seen everywhere in the suburbs of the town.