CHAPTER XIX.

THE SOCIAL ASPECT OF THE TERRITORY.

In 1862-3, with mills running in all directions and mines open and hoisting ore for a distance of a mile or more along the Comstock, Virginia City was a lively place. Where but two or three years before was nothing but a rocky slope covered with sage-brush and scrub cedar, were now to be seen large fire-proof brick and stone buildings, and streets crowded with men and teams.

As all goods were at that time brought across the mountains by teams, and as hundreds of teams were required to haul ore from the mines to the mills, and to bring wood and timber from the hills and mountains, as well as to do all kinds of local freighting, there often occurred most vexatious blockades in the streets. A jam of teams would take place, owing to some accident or to mismanagement on the part of some teamster, and teams rolling in from each side, there would soon be seen a regular blockade. These blockades were of daily occurrence and sometimes lasted for hours. Teamsters waiting for the road to open grew hungry, and producing their lunch-pails sat on their wagons and ate dinner, still waiting patiently for the blockade to be broken. Half a dozen stage-lines were running into the place, and these arrived loaded down with passengers—capitalists, miners, “sports,” thieves, robbers, and adventurers of all kinds. Cutting, shooting, and rows of every description became of much more frequent occurrence than at any time in the early days. The stages on all the roads leading to the city were very frequently robbed by masked men, who halted the driver with revolvers or double-barrelled shot-guns and called upon him to hand out Wells, Fargo & Co’s treasure-box. One driver was halted so often and became so well acquainted with the routine of the business, that whenever he happened upon a man with a shot-gun, he went down into the boot of his vehicle for the treasure-box. The usual plan of the robbers, after securing the treasure-box, was to form the passengers in line by the roadside, and while one masked robber stood guard over them with a shot-gun, another would search them and relieve them of their coin, watches, and other valuables. After this ceremony they would be ordered on board the stage and told to “go along.”

The stages were robbed scores of times, bars of bullion, coin, and all manner of valuables being taken. It was finally ascertained that the gang who did most of this work—indeed, made it a regular business—were men living on Six-mile Cañon, only about five miles from Virginia City. They were ostensibly engaged in mining and had leased a mill, but the bars they produced were those captured in their raids upon the stages. The mill was only a blind. Without it they would not have dared to dispose of their stolen bars. The capture of stage-coaches being considered not quite up to the genius of the gang, they finally took a whole train of cars on the Central Pacific Railroad, and got a spoil of over $50,000. But this was their last exploit. All were soon captured and the greater part of the stolen treasure recovered.

On the ridge between Virginia City and Gold Hill, called the “Divide,” and forming the suburbs of both towns, was for some years a place where footpads prowled nightly, and robberies there were of constant occurrence. A belated Gold Hiller would be hurrying to his home when a man would suddenly step out from behind a lumber-pile and tell him to hold up his hands. With a cocked pistol pointed at his head the Gold Hiller, or any other man, uniformly obeyed the order, when he was quickly relieved of his loose change and told to “move on.” A footpad would sometimes rob three or four men in quick succession in this way, provided they happened along one at a time. They were quite industrious, and were not the men to borrow or beg while they were able to make a living by the labor of their hands.

On one occasion a Virginian was coming up over the Divide from Gold Hill late at night. He had three twenty-dollar gold pieces in his breeches’ pocket, and, happening to be sauntering along with his hands in his pockets, had the coin in his hand. Suddenly a masked man stepped before him and thrusting a pistol into his face, cried: “Hold up your hands, sir!” The gentleman held both hands high above his head, when the footpad searched his pockets and found nothing. The gentleman had closed his hand upon the three “twenties” and held them above his head while submitting to the search. The footpad was evidently much disappointed, as he said: “If you ever come along here again without any money, I’ll take you a lick under the butt of the ear. That’s what I’ll do with you!”

One night a stout young German was passing over the Divide, when he was suddenly confronted by two masked robbers, one of whom placed a six-shooter at his head. The level-headed German just reached out and twisted the pistol out of the robber’s hand; whereupon he and his partner in the business of collecting tolls from belated travelers took to their heels, zigzagging and dodging industriously in the expectation that a bullet would be sent after them. Some one asked the young German what put it into his head to go for the pistol. “Py dunder,” said he, “I did vant him; because in der spring, you see, I goes to der Bannock country!”

Although few dead bodies were found on the roads, it is supposed that many murders were committed about this time, the majority of the victims being strangers in the country; yet not a few well-known residents of the State have from time to time mysteriously disappeared. Almost every year the remains of human beings are found in old shafts. Inquests are held by the coroner of the county, but the remains are generally so much decomposed that they cannot be identified, and the witnesses summoned can only make mention of the several men known to them who have at various times suddenly and unaccountably disappeared. In one old shaft, when work was resumed on it after the lapse of some years, no less than three dead bodies of men were found. Pieces of rope were found tied about the arms and legs, as though for the purpose of making the bodies up into a bundle convenient for transportation to the shaft. This shaft was located below the town of Gold Hill, a short distance from a road on which there were few houses. Many persons have also, no doubt, accidentally walked into these old abandoned shafts, which everywhere cover the face of the country, in the night or in the winter, when their mouths were covered with drifts of snow. There are many instances of this where persons have narrowly escaped death.

In Virginia City and other Washoe towns many goats are kept by families for their milk. There are hundreds of goats to be seen everywhere on the hills and mountains. The goat is an animal that is fond of caves and caverns. De Foe was right in putting an old goat into a dark cavern, in his “Robinson Crusoe.” The goats in Washoe constantly frequent the old tunnels high up on the side of Mount Davidson and other mountains. In many of these tunnels, at a distance of from two hundred to five hundred feet from the mouth, vertical shafts have been sunk, to the depth of from one hundred to two or three hundred feet. It often happens that the goats, in the darkness of the old tunnels, walk into these shafts. Some years ago a man living on Gold Cañon went out to look up a strayed goat. He found the fresh tracks of goats leading into an old tunnel, and ventured in. In walking back along the tunnel in the darkness he fell into a shaft in its bottom. The shaft was about eighty feet in depth, and he would probably have been instantly killed, but that there were at the bottom the bodies of four or five dead goats; as it was, he had an arm and a leg broken.

The man being missed, his neighbors turned out in search of him. They found his tracks leading into the tunnel and went in after him, in Indian file. Suddenly the head man disappeared, he having in the dim light of the place, stepped into the mouth of the old shaft. From the groans heard below his friends knew that he had not been killed, and at once procured a windlass and rope and descended to his rescue, when, to their surprise, they found that they had two men in the bottom of the shaft. The man who last fell in had a leg broken, and by his fall came so near jolting the life out of the man of whom they at first came in search, that when first taken out it was thought he was dead.

In Virginia City, some men who were one day at work in a lumber-yard, concluded it would be a good plan to pile a lot of boards over the mouth of an old shaft that was in a part of the yard, not far from the principal street leading to the town of Gold Hill. After they had commenced the work, one of the men said that as he put down a plank he thought that he heard a groan in the shaft. All listened. After a time another man said he had heard what seemed to be a faint moan at the bottom of the shaft. All again listened, and hearing nothing more were about to go on with their work, when there came up from the bottom of the shaft a deep groan that was heard by all. A windlass was procured, and on descending the shaft a man was found lying at its bottom in an unconscious condition. He was brought to the surface, when it was found that he had a leg broken in two places, and was badly cut and bruised in many parts of his body. He was a man weighing about 180 pounds, and had fallen a distance of over one hundred feet. He proved to be an engineer employed at one of the mills at Silver City, and finally fully recovered. He remembered nothing about falling into the shaft; he only remembered that on a certain day he was in Virginia City and started for home very drunk. From this it was shown that he had been in the shaft three days and nights when found. He stated, that while in the shaft he regained his consciousness for a time, and to some extent comprehended his situation, as, looking about, he saw the walls of the shaft and the light of day at its top. When he recovered he “swore off” drinking—never would drink another drop as long as he lived—and did not get drunk again for nearly a month.

[Illustration: “HOLD UP YOUR HANDS!”]

[Illustration: A BONANZA OF BEEF.]

One day a boy about six years of age was lost at Virginia City. His parents and their neighbors searched in vain for the missing child. The police turned out to their assistance, and many firemen and miners joined in the search. Bell-ringers had been through the city, and every place above ground had been searched. A dog had accompanied the boy when he left home, and this dog was also missing. Finally some one went up on the side of the mountain above town, and entered an old tunnel, in the floor of which was a vertical shaft over one hundred and fifty feet in depth. Calling at the mouth of this shaft, a faint cry was heard below. A windlass was hastily rigged, and a miner descended the shaft, and at its bottom found the missing child with not a bone broken. He had fallen upon the dead bodies of two or three goats that lay at the bottom of the shaft. The dog was also found alive at the bottom of the shaft. The man who descended was almost suffocated when he came to the surface. The air was bad in the bottom of the shaft and the stench from the dead goats almost unendurable. The child was nearly dead when taken out, and was covered with a mass of flies that had insinuated themselves into his mouth, nose, ears, and eyes; but in about ten days the little fellow had fully recovered and was ready for fresh adventures.

Many other instances—scores of them—might be given to show the dangerous character of these traps, which everywhere cover the face of the country, for miles about the principal mining towns, but I shall conclude with the following:

A teamster, stopping at noon two or three miles from the city, unhitched eight yoke of oxen from his wagon, in order to let them graze about among the sage-brush while he was eating his dinner. Although unhitched, they were fastened together in a string by a heavy log-chain which passed through their several yokes. The teamster, seated on his wagon, eating, was astounded at seeing his whole team of cattle, then distant about one hundred yards, suddenly disappear into the ground. In picking along they reached an old shaft, round which those in the lead had passed, then moving forward had so straightened the line as to pull a middle yoke into the mouth of the shaft. All then followed, going down like links of sausage. The shaft was three hundred feet in depth, and that bonanza of beef still remains unworked at its bottom.

The Comstock range is a region in which a stranger should never venture to wander at night, either on foot or on horseback. Even in daylight, in the midst of a driving snow-storm, a man once rode his horse into a shaft over fifty feet in depth. The city authorities have caused most of the old shafts to be filled up or securely planked over, but scores of open shafts are still to be seen everywhere in the suburbs of the town.