[Rollin M. Daggett, My French Friend, The Overland Monthly, January 1895]

 

62        True Tales of the Old West.       [Jan.

 

TRUE TALES OF THE OLD WEST. II

MY FRENCH FRIEND.

I.

            ALTHOUGH my mining experience dates back to a period when the mountain trails were new and dim, and the unexplored bars and gulches of the gold fields of California were plentiful and inviting, my success as a gold miner was never bewildering. I could always find gold in paying quantities ; that is, I never found it difficult to secure a location where I could gather from half an ounce to two ounces of gold dust per day of remarkably energetic and persistent labor ; but I was not among those who were continually stumbling upon nuggets as large as a man's hand, or dropping upon pockets and crevices from which small fortunes were panned between two consecutive Sundays, and frequently in less time.

            I was always dreaming of, and searching for, deposits of this character, where a pan of gravel, for instance, would yield a quart of fine gold, and where nuggets could be hoed from their hiding places like potatoes from a hill, and was therefore never quite satisfied with the reasonable return with which the labor of the great majority was rewarded in the early years of placer mining.

            Men who have been kicked all the way down the long lane of life by scowling fortune, with scarcely a smile to sweeten their profitless years of toil, are expected to believe in a protecting and impartial Providence, through the assurance that there is no such thing as luck, and that every marked benefaction, however plainly it may seem to be the fruit of luck, is in reality but the rational result of sagacious and well-directed individual effort.

            Should this assumption be correct,—should the thing we call luck be the legitimate offspring of subtle and innate deduction,—then is there a species or special quality of sagacity operating in the line of material accumulation, which is not only above and beyond the canons of human logic, but as inexplicable to those who possess it as are the gifts of Blind Tom, and other musical and mathematical wonders who from time to time have puzzled the world.

            A hasty glance at the field prompts me to suggest that quite as many large fortunes have been accreted on the Pacific Coast through what seemed to be

1895.]  True Tales of the Old West.                   63

accident, stupidity, or gross violation of sound business methods, as have been amassed through well-conceived plans and intelligent management. It has been asserted that all the millions taken from the lower levels of the Comstock are due to a blast fired without orders in the Crown Point mine; and I know of at least three fortunes of over a million each accruing to the owners of mining shares, which they vainly sought to dispose of at beggarly figures on the very eve of developments multiplying their values by hundreds and thousands.

            Very many real estate owners in San Francisco are in affluence today because they could not sell their holdings during the great depression caused by the discovery of gold on Frazer River, and a large hotel in the city occupies a block of land which the keeper of an eating-house reluctantly took for a board bill of sixty dollars, thirty-five years ago.

            A very prominent mining stock operator, now deceased, admitted that a mistake in a telegraphic cipher dispatch from Virginia City to his broker in San Francisco saved him from bankruptcy at a critical time. Had he sold the stock short, as he intended, ruin would have resulted ; but the broker bought in stead, and a profit of a quarter of a million followed. Another well known San Francisco stock operator, who enjoys the rental of a substantial building on Montgomery street, might relate a somewhat similar personal experience, were he so disposed.

            A gopher hole led to the discovery of the valuable gold deposits on Shane's Flat, in Tuolumne county, and in falling over a cliff a drunken Swede brought to light one of the richest quartz veins in Amador county.

            In the summer of 1852, in defiance of the advice and jeers of their neighbors, a party of inexperienced miners flumed a riffle of the North Yuba, where the shore bed-rock was bare, and there was no indication of gravel in the channel.  And, indeed, no gravel of consequence was found in the bed of the stream after the water had been diverted from it ; but the bare crevices were studded with nuggets from one to twenty ounces in weight. There were not less than half a bushel of them ; and many old residents of San Francisco will recall the exhibition of them for a few days in a Montgomery street window.

            It was in that year that a party of three, including the writer, flumed about fifteen hundred feet of the South Yuba, below the mouth of Rush Creek, five or six miles from Nevada City, and about the same distance from Grass Valley. The flume was constructed by contract, by a visionary old mechanic known as "Deacon Locke," who was insane enough to erect a sawmill at the lower end of the bar, for the express and only purpose of providing the lumber required in that single undertaking. The contract called for the completion of the flume on or before the first day of August, but as the valuable months of summer were frittered away in building the mill, when the lumber needed for the flume might have been hauled down from Nevada, the waters of the river were not diverted from the bed until the first week in November, and the draining pumps had scarcely been put in motion before our beautiful aqueduct of sawed lumber was torn into fragments and carried down the stream by the Autumn floods.

            It was a cruel disappointment. All the castles I had built during the summer vanished with the departing flume, and for a time I sat in the ashes of despair. Gloom was succeeded by the healthier feeling of anger. I looked around for Locke, whose puttering and procrastination had caused the disaster, and found that he had left the bar the night before. Then I stood and saw the flume go, piece by piece, until the last section disappeared ; when in my wrath I threw after it into the raging

64        True Tales of the Old West.                   [Jan.

waters shovels, wheelbarrows, crowbars, and every other mining appliance within reach, and started up the trail for Grass Valley, resolved to abandon a business so thoroughly at the mercy of crazy millwrights and the elements..

            This resolution was inspired no less by my own misfortune than the overwhelming success of a party of drunken sailors, who the same season flumed a barren looking riffle three or four hundred yards below the scene of our operations. Their short flume was a ricketty, leaky affair, patched with canvas, and propped with slabs caught floating down the river from our mill. Their claim was drained by the middle of September, and in the next six weeks they took out one hundred and sixty thousand dollars, principally in nuggets, one of which weighed thirty-three pounds.

            Now, perhaps it was not good luck that gave these sailors two or three mule-loads of gold in fluming a riffle where no reasonable man would look for more than a color, and perhaps it was not bad luck that vitally connected with our enterprise the only insane millwright in California ; but both circumstances looked like wanton freaks of fortune at the time.

II.

            BLESS Us ! how the pen will wander in describing events connected with pioneer life in California! However, it has not gone far estray in this instance, since it was my purpose in the beginning to say something concerning a strange character whom I first encountered while awaiting the construction of the flume on the South Yuba just referred to.

            I occupied a log cabin on the flat skirted by our river claim, about one hundred yards below the ferry, owned and operated by my mining partners in conjunction with a small trading establishment, where gold dust was bought and miners' supplies could be purchased.

            Sitting in the twilight in front of my cabin door one evening in July, listening to the splashing of the waters over the riffles, and devising new investments for the quarter of a million with which I expected to leave the river before the snow began to fall, I discovered a man coming down the flat, with a roll of blankets strapped to his back, and carrying his hat in his hand. He did not stop at the ferry-house, but passed on at a brisk walk until he reached a fallen pine fifty or sixty yards back of the cabin, where he dropped his burden and began to make preparations to spend the night. After smoothing the ground behind the tree, he unrolled and spread his blankets, and, squatting down upon them, suddenly disappeared.

            Strolling over to the wayfarer five minutes later, I found him sitting cross-legged on his blankets, and eating from a loaf of bread, which he occasionally moistened with draughts from a claret bottle. On discovering me he rose to his feet, and politely returned my salutation of " Good evening."

            He was a small, spare man, with bright gray eyes, and a strikingly intelligent face. He was partially bald, and his hair and cropped whiskers were tinged with gray. He was dressed in a faded business suit, with a soft felt hat, and shoes too trail for travel in the mountains. His hands were soft and shapely, and his whole appearance indicated that he was out of place, alone and with his blankets spread at night beside a fallen tree on the South Yuba.

            No one could mistake his nationality. His face, his eyes, his gestures, his attitude in speaking, all were as French as the charming accent and amusing choice of words with which he endeavored to make himself understood in English. All that he knew of our language had been learned from books, and his vocabulary was unique and pleasing.

            Finding that I could make myself understood, I invited him to the cabin, in-

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forming him that I was alone, and that my lodgings embraced an extra bunk, which was entirely at his service. He accepted the invitation thankfully and without hesitation, and, gathering up his effects, followed me to the cabin.

            Pointing to a vacant bunk, into which he threw his blankets, I asked him to allow me to make him a cup of coffee and serve him with a dish of cold boiled beans. But he declined to accept anything, declaring that his simple supper of bread and claret was all that he required.

            " I care not to eat," he added. "I very mooch more desire to make some conversation wiz you."

            As the suggestion was quite to my taste, we sat in the open doorway and talked until past midnight, and I learned much of the personal history of my guest. His name was Armand Daudet. He was born and reared in Paris, and his age was fifty-one. His father was a distinguished physician, but Armand was educated for the law. The profession did not please him, however, and after receiving his diploma he drifted into journalism. He became prominent and influential in his new vocation. He favored the early aspirations of Louis Napoleon, and assisted in securing his election to the National Assembly; but when he destroyed the republic Armand became his enemy, and was finally compelled to leave France for openly attacking the Empire. A French merchant vessel took him to San Francisco, where he landed with less than a hundred dollars. The French consul treated him with scant courtesy, and after vainly trying to find some employment for which he was fitted, he started for the mines. A fellow-countryman in Nevada City advised him to go to Sweetland's, and he was on his way thither when night overtook him at the mouth of Rush Creek.

            " You must be pretty nearly out of money," 1 suggested.

            He took from his pocket a Mexican silver dollar, and, holding it up, said with a smile: " Zis is all I have left."

            " What will you do when that is gone?"

            He shrugged his shoulders and pointed at the river.

            " Oh, no," I replied, alarmed at the calmness with which he contemplated suicide ; "you must not think of such a thing. For the lack of gold you would drown yourself in a river that is full of it. That would be ridiculous. Do you know anything about gold mining?"

            " Very leetle. As I pass along I have seen some men employed in ze acquisition of gold from ze sand by means of what you denominate a rockaire. So mooch I know of mining, and no more. It is very leetle, you must say."

            " Are you willing to work ?"

            " Am I willing ? Ah, sir, I should esteem myself most happy to arduously labor wiz my hands to procure gold."

            " Very well ; then you shall have an opportunity. I will provide you with tools, and teach you how to mine. I shall have little to do for a month or two, and it will be a pleasure to assist you. Remain in the cabin. There are accommodations for both of us, and provisions enough to last as long as we will probably remain on the bar."

            I was overwhelmed with Armand's expressions of gratitude. " You are a boy," he said, "and speak wiz ze kind impulse of youth. But I am most grateful. I am exalted wiz happiness. I could dance, I could sing, so prodigious is my joy ! Yes, yes, I shall learn how to extract ze gold, and wiz stupendous assiduity you shall behold me dig ze ground! Ah, ha! I shall triumph wiz ze rockaire "

            Armand would have talked all night, so greatly was he excited at the thought of becoming a miner;; but he crawled into his bunk at last, and after breakfast the next morning I started him to work at the lower end of the flat, where I knew fair wages might be realized. I placed

66        True Tales of the Old West.                   [Jan.

the rocker, and after working with him for an hour or more, left him to his own resources.

As the weather was warm, I advised him to work with moderation ; but he declined to rest after dinner, and toiled on ceaselessly until I dropped down in the evening to " clean up" for him. The day's work yielded him about half an ounce of gold. There should have been more, but neglect of the riffle-box had resulted in some loss.

            Although his hands were blistered, Armand was surprised and delighted at this return for his labor. "Ah ! zis is grand ! zis is manly ! zis is noble ! " he exclaimed with enthusiasm. " Zis working wiz ze hands is democratique, and I am proud to do so !"

            " But how about the blisters, Armand How do you like them ? "

            " Ah ! I will tell you my thoughts. Ze blistaires are ze aristocratique protest against honest labor, and I will teach my bands to scorn zem ! "

            Notwithstanding the scorn with which Armand proposed to teach his hands to regard the blisters afflicting them, a week or more elapsed before he was able to do another full day's work. But his hands hardened in time, and for nearly two months he continued his labors, adding daily to his little store of gold. He was intelligent, good-natured and vivacious, and during the evenings we spent together his descriptions of Paris life and references to French politics were incessant and entertaining. I became very greatly attached to him, and always regretted the ridiculous occurrence which led to his abrupt departure from the bar.

            As our bunks were so located that a conversation could not very well be carried on between us after retiring for the night, I had assisted Armand in making and swinging a canvas hammock for his accommodation, within five or six feet of the mattress of leaves upon which my blankets were spread. The arrangement was satisfactory to him, and he usually talked after we had bestowed ourselves for the night until silenced by my failure to respond.

            One night, in a spirit of mischief, I harrowed him into a condition of nervousness by talking of snakes, centipedes, scorpions, and other venomous reptiles found in California. I told him that rattlesnakes, whose bite was death, sometimes entered cabins through defective chinking, and crawled into the bunks and hammocks of sleepers ; and referred to a case which a short time before had resulted in the death of a miner at Waloupa.

            Some time before daylight the next morning, I was aroused by Armand calling out in a suppressed, but terrified tone : " My friend ! my friend ! Are you awake ?"

            " Yes, I am awake. What 's the matter, Armand ? "

            " I zink zare is a serpent in zis hammook."

            " Oh, I guess not."

            " Yes, but I am sure. What shall I do ? "

            Deeming it possible that he might not be wrong, I advised him to quietly remove his feet from the hammock, and then spring suddenly to the floor.

            He attempted to follow my advice. In less than a minute there was a crash, followed by a succession of agonizing groans.

            Hastily leaping from my bunk and lighting a candle, I found Armand with his head and shoulders on the floor and his feet in the broken hammock. In a wild attempt to spring to the floor, he had broken the single spike to which the head of the hammock had been fastened. The fall itself would have been severe, but on reaching the floor his head had struck a piece of hoop-iron used as a fire-hook, and the scalp was pretty badly cut.  I raised and seated him on a bench, and, seeing that he was not dangerous-

1895.]              True Tales of the Old West.                   67

ly hurt, began cautiously to open and examine the hammock for the venomous reptile that had provoked the disaster. I found it. It was three or four loose feet of the hammock rope which accident had stretched along the side of Armand.

            " Here is your snake, Armand," I said, holding up the rope.

            He tried to smile ; but I could see that he was in pain, and I washed and bandaged his head, and assisted him into his old bunk.

            He was all right the next morning, with the exception of the cut on the head ; but he did not work during the day, and invited no conversation.

            Of course, the story of Armand's mishap was too good to keep, and I told it at the ferry-house in the presence of half a-dozen miners ; and when, in the afternoon, some one in passing laughingly bawled out to him, " Crapeau, how 's yer snake-bite ? " he knew that I had betrayed him, and straightway attempted to blow out his brains with a rusty old horse-pistol that a former occupant of the cabin had left on a shelf ; but the weapon was harmless, and I had fortunately loaned my revolver three or four days before.

            His sad and reproachful look at supper awoke within me a feeling of remorse, and I spent the evening at the ferry-house. When I returned, which was at rather a late hour, I found Armand asleep. At least, he did not speak, or turn to greet me even with a glance.

            We ate our breakfast in silence the next morning. Then Armand rolled up his blankets, swung them over his shoulder, and stepped out of the door, where I was sitting. With tears in his eyes, he held out his hand and said :

            " Adieu, my good friend. You have greatly humiliated me, but you have been kind, and I do pardon you. But I cannot remain here to be ze jest of brutal men. I did try to kill myself, but ze weapon decline to be discharge.  I feel for you no resentment — nozzhing but love — but I must go. Adieu! "

            I could say nothing except that I greatly regretted the pain I had thoughtlessly caused him. He made no reply, but waved his hand with a sad smile, and mounted the trail leading to Nevada City.

            As I subsequently learned, Armand proceeded to San Francisco, where, through the influence of a French friend, he secured the position of porter in a wholesale establishment on Battery street. As it was a time of the year when trade was dull, and the duties of porter were correspondingly light, at the end of the first month Armand sought the head of the house, and said to him with dignity :

            "Sir, I desire to discharge myself."

            " Why, what 's the matter ? " inquired the merchant, with surprise. " Are you overworked ? "

            " Ah, sir, your words confirm ze apprehension. I do very little work. I zhink you employ me from charitee, and I decline to accept ze gratitude. Sir, allow me to tender to you my very great respect." And Armand bowed himself out of the office, leaving the merchant staring at him in speechless amazement.

            Two months later I met Armand in San Francisco. He was well dressed, and apparently in a genial frame of mind. His delight in seeing me seemed to be almost boundless. He shed tears of joy. Ah, my friend," he said, " I have waited for zis occasion. I have eaten your bread, your beans, your bacon in ze Yuba rivaire. Tonight you must enjoy wiz me a French dinnaire."

            I accepted the invitation, and at six o'clock Armand called for me in a carriage at my hotel, and we were driven to a French restaurant, where a private dining-room had been reserved for us. The table and sideboard were decorated

68        To a Portrait.                [Jan.

with flowers, and the dinner was choice and elaborate, with the finest of old wines, and every appetizing accessory.

            I had never seen Armand so happy. We ate, drank, chatted, and smoked until near midnight, when the same carriage in which we had been conveyed to the restaurant reappeared at the door, and Armand returned with me to my hotel, where I bade him good-night. In parting, he held my hand for a moment, as if about to say something ; but with a simple "adieu " he hurriedly re-entered the carriage, and was driven off.

            A paragraph in a morning paper took me to the Coroner's rooms the next day, where I saw the pale, dead face of Armand. He had been seen to leap into the water from Clay street wharf shortly after midnight, and his body was recovered an hour or two afterwards. No money was found on the person of the suicide. He had evidently spent the last of his earnings in providing a grand entertainment for his friend from the mountains, and then deliberately put an end to his life.

            Poor Armand ! His heart may have ached with wounds that he never showed to me.

R. M. Daggett.