THE
ARGONAUTS OF CALIFORNIA.
Page 260.
CHAPTER XVIII.
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 although 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 by’s 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 by’s, 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
jabbers. 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, because 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
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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 by’s, 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, by’s, 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 prospecing 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 weren’t afraid to spind their kine fraly to develop ther country for ther
benefit ov all ov yez see, now? But the ould time prospectors are ther poorest
ov the lot so 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-time work it at all, for, be gob, he has no kine to do that same. So ther
poor divil, aftehr 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 traveling over the
counthry an’ of makin’ rich diskiveries for others to rape ther benefit ov,
an’, idade, 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, be
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cause 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 almost 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 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.’ ‘Vel, 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 and 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;
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yet ‘tis some consolation for
us to know that there was in a time once when we were able to make a big
splurge in the big city below when we make 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 done.’
“But divil a bit, thin,” retorted Mike,
“is ther thought ov thim days ov plinty an big diggings 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, an’ we wuldn’t be afther askin’
any boot aither, for just a few short years ov rest an’ quiet now in ur 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 thinking’ 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 containul ixpictations,
do yez moind, that made ther business so facinatin’, begorra ! Whin at wurruk
in ther ravine we was ivery day expictin’, 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 thet ton, as they did over
in Alder gulch, Montana, 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’y’s did from Forest Hill. Faith, thin, me b’ys, ‘twas these continual ixpictations in early
days that made ther business of minin’ so facinatin’, but thin ther continual
disappintments that many ov us met
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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’ reclining’ against the side ov
that shaft. Says I: “Is it much harmed that yez are, Pat?” “Divil a vit 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
Ted, 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 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,
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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 weren’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
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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 say I to myself, ‘Old Barton, old Barton, take keer
of yourself, for you are agoin’ to have a visitor from old Tuolomne!’ 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 handling it to Tex, remarked
that it was all right. ‘You bet,’ says Tex, and politely bidding Bartow
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
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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 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 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 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 ther 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 objects was when they first formed to clean out the Mexican horse and
cattle
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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, has stated all the particulars
of his connection with The Hounds, and of the reward offered for his
Page 269 Illustration.
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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
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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.
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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-barreled 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
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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
year.
Transcribed by:
Jeanne Sturgis Taylor.
Proofread by Betty Vickroy.
© 2008 Jeanne Sturgis Taylor.
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