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.”
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 asyou 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.”
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 ShastaCounty 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.
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-roomscrub-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.”
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 itthat 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.
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 discoverthis 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
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.
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.
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 bodiesare. 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 havesandy 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 earlydays, 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
“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
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.
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 IkeKept 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.
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 IkeKept 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.
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 IkeKept 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 theold 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.”