CHAPTER XX

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YANK VISITS THE OLD MINING CAMP--YANK SEATED ON THE BOULDER--THE FIRST LOAF OF BREAD--THE BEAN-POT COMET--HOW JULIUS SAILED UP THE RIVER--JEFF’S PLUM-DUFF--THE STONE STATUE--THE OLD MINER WHO WAS ROBBED ON BOARD THE STEAMER--THE CŒUR D’ALENE MINES--COASTING.

One of the company remarked, with rather a sad expression of countenance, that the last time he went through the mining region in the central counties, where he mined in earlier days, it actually gave him the blues to see those small villages and mining camps now all going to ruins and not a single sluice or tom at work for miles around, except once in a while by a Chinaman.

“Why, them confounded ranchers,” he continued, “are jest fencin’ in the whole country, and settin’ out their grape-vines and orchards right where we used to jest roll out ther dust. Why, if them chaps keep on a spell longer, nobody will know that there has ever been any minin’ done there at all.”

“Oh, say, Jim, when were you up in Eldorado County last!” asked Yank, an old-timer, of an old pardner whom he had just met for the first time in many years.

Jim replied that he had never been to that part of the country since he left it in ’53.

“But that was a rich gulch that we worked over there by Mosquito cañon, wern’t it?” said Yank.

“Well, I should say it was, and good two-ounce diggins’ every day. I would jest like to strike another sich a claim as that now.”

“Well,” says Yank, “do you remember old Buckeye, the chap with the crooked nose?”

“Oh, yes! yes indeed. You remember I called him old corkscrew. But have you ever run afoul of him in your travels?”

“Yes,” replied Yank, “and I’ll tell ye how I happened to strike him last fall. You see I had been prospecting around up in that new silver minin’ region in Northern Idaho, and as soon as the snow begun to fall I concluded to make tracks for California, so I came down through Montana into Nevada, but didn’t see any thing worth stayin’ there for. Well, on my way over from Nevada, I concluded to come around on that divide, take a look around the country above Georgetown, and take a walk over to that gulch, near Mosquito Cañon, where we worked in ’50. But I tell you I hardly knew the place, for I had to climb over fences, travel through vineyards and orchards, and in one place I come across the biggest swarm of children that you ever did see, and it did seem strange to see so many children livin’ where only a few years ago was nobody but grizzlys and Indians. I asked a little black-eyed chap where they all came from, and he said that building over there on the hill was a school-house, and the children all lived around in the neighborhood. I asked him if their parents were mining?

“‘Oh, no,’ said he, ‘they was most all ranchin’, some few of em were minin’ down in the cañon and some were workin’ in their tunnel claims in the hills.’

I asked him if there was any more children in that part of the country.

“‘Oh,’ says he, ‘I reckon there is; for right over there by the cañon is a big school house that’s chock full of children, and over there in that ravine they are jest buildin’ another one and that’ll soon be full of children too, you bet.’

“The boy put me on the trail to the cañon, and I soon found the gulch where we mined nearly forty years ago. ’Tis all fenced in now, and the ground where we worked down in the gulch is all covered with fruit trees. You remember that great quartz boulder, Jim, that slid down off the bank one day and came near smashing some of us?”

“Oh, yes, first rate,” answered Jim.

“Well, that great boulder lies right there yet in the same spot and jest looks as natural as life. I lit my pipe and took a seat upon it, as we used to do, you remember, and thought of old times, and wondered what had become of my old pardners, Jim, Buckeye and Kentuck. I found the old cabin that we built, or what is left of it, but it has been fixed up, and two or three chaps are livin’ in it, who are at work for the man who owns the ranch. I took a walk up towards the old cabin and see two of them chaps grinding an axe out in front of it. Do you remember, Jim, the time that I went over to Georgetown and bought that Dutch oven?”

[Illustration: YANK REVISITING THE OLD SCENES.]

“Yes, indeed, I do, and old Buckeye called it a donkey baker, because there was a big cross upon the inside of the cover, and I remember, Yank, how you bragged that you was jest a-goin to show the boys what good bread was when it come your cook week agin. Ha! Ha! and I remember that first loaf you baked, too, and how we had to drill and blast it into small pieces before we could eat it.”

“But don’t you remember the next loaf I baked was so infernal hard, Jim, that you broke the drill tryin’ to put in a blast?”

“Yes, you bet I do, Yank.”

“Well, you’ve got an awful good memory, Jim; and you remember I threw that loaf of bread out among the ashes in front of the house, Yank?”

“Well, now, listen. I see them chaps at work up there in front of the cabin grindin’ an axe, and I could hear one of ’em growlin’ and cussin’ about somethin’, so I walked up that way to have a talk with them. They told me that they had been to work mor’n two hours tryin’ to grind the axe on that grindstone, but ’twasn’t worth a cuss. I asked them where the stone came from, and one of them said that he found it among that old pile of ashes and tried three or four days to git a hole through it so they could use it.

“‘Out of the ash heap,’ said I, ‘that’s queer.’ I stepped up close to get a good look at it, and what do you suppose I see, Jim? Why, on the side of the stone was a big cross, and I’ll be dolgerned if they wasn’t using that loaf of bread for a grindstone that I throw’d out there nearly forty years ago, just as sure as you live. Well, I asked the chap how they got a hole through it. He said they tried every way they could think of, but ’twas no use.

“‘One day there was a thunder shower comin’ over, and the Boss, he fastened a wire to it and then run the ’tother end of the wire ’way up to the top of a hop-pole. Well, the lightnin’ struck it right square in the center, and it jest tore the lightnin’ all to pieces, but didn’t hurt the stone a bit.’

“‘Well, well,’ says I, ‘that beats anything I ever heard of. But,’ I asked, ‘how did you make out to git a hole through it at last?’

“‘Well,’ says he, ‘I’ll tell ye. A man over the hill yonder was down here to the ranch ’tother day looking at the stone, and he told the Boss to bring it over to his ranch and he would drill a hole through it for him. So we took it over thar and he did it. You see, he has got on his ranch a real knowin’ sort of mule, who’s always willin’ to do anythin’ you want done, if he can do it. So the rancher made the stone fast to a tree behind the mule, fastened a drill to the mule’s hind foot, and then begun to tickle the mule behind his ear with a long straw, and in about three minutes he drilled a hole right square through the middle of the stone.’

“Then I up and told him what that stone was and the reason why they couldn’t grind an axe on it, and showed him the cross on the inside of it, and how it was marked from the cross on the inside of the cover of the bake-oven.

“The chap who had told me all about drilling the hole through it, turned his eye up towards me and remarked that he thought I had better be goin’ pretty soon, for the Boss might be comin’ down that way. I asked him why? He said there was a notice jest above thar on the fence that no old Forty-niners were allowed to come about on the ranch. I asked him the reason why, and he said that he couldn’t exactly tell what the reason was, but said he (the Boss) was an old Forty-niner hisself and maybe he could tell me. I then asked the chap if he was an old-timer too. He said no, but that he had an aunt who was.

“‘I thought so,’ said I.

[Illustration: 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.”

[Illustration: 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 as you 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.”

[Illustration: 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 Shasta County 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.

[Illustration: 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-room scrub-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.”

[Illustration: 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 it that 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.

[Illustration: 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 discover this 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

[Illustration: 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.

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