[Dan De Quille, Scenes In Nevada, New York Sun, June 7, 1885]

 

SCENES IN NEVADA.

__________

How an Honest Miner Was Cured of an Agricultural Fever.

            VIRGINIA CITY, May 20. — A few months ago John Boyle, who had wrought for many years in the sweltering lower levels of the Comstock mines, resolved that he would go to Washington Territory, become a tiller of the soil, and grow up with the country. He would cease to lead a subterranean life—would come up from among the blinking troglodytes and live in the light of day. No more would he toil in stifling drifts, tunnels, and cross cuts. He would employ himself at some congenial task in the bright fields, where pure breezes blow, flowers bloom, and birds sing in wind-tossed boughs.

            Such was the determination of John Boyle six months ago. But "once a miner always a miner." A few days ago John returned a wiser if not a sadder man. Meeting his old friend and mining partner, James Bean, John was questioned in regard to his experience.

            "Well," began John, "I became an agriculturist, James.  James, my experience has taught me that an agriculturist is the noblest work of God."

            "Does he beat an honest man, John?"

            "Yes, James, in a horse trade."

            "I suppose you were high in the ranks of the Grangers — won a badge as big as a dinner plate, turned out in all the processions, and made speeches at the meetings?"

            "A Granger! Pooh! Why, James, I was old Agricola himself!"

            "Oh, indeed?"

            "Yes; I used to 'speed the plough,' James."

            "And sacrificed to Pallas, founder of the plough and the ploughman's toil?"

            "Exactly, James."

            "You also hurled the glittering reaper through the golden grain?"

            "No, James, no. I guided the shining share through the emerald sward."

            "Beautiful ! What says Virgil?—

                                    'Produce the plough and yoke the sturdy steer,

                                    And goad him till he groans beneath his toil,

                                    Till the bright share is buried in the soil.' "

            "Ah! James, sweet is the recollection of those days. Why, I was a second Cincinnatus !"

            "Indeed ! John, shake hands with me."

            "With pleasure, James. Take the palm of a 'horny-handed son of rural toil.' Ah, James, I 'ate my bread in the sweat of my face!'"

            "A very Adam! But tell me, John, where did you do all this farming?"

            "Up in Washington Territory. All was done within the boundaries of that one Territory. I never ploughed across the line into strange and inhospitable regions — never, James."

            "It was well, with your ambition, John — it was well that you were not in Rhode Island."

            "It was, James — it was!"

            "Dare I ask for some particulars in regard to your experience while pursuing your labors in the capacity of a husbandman?"

            "You may, James. Upon my arrival in the fruitful vales of the Territory named, I engaged myself to a landed proprietor and was allotted the congenial task of preparing the fecund soil for the waiting seed. Girding up my loins — with a piece of bailing rope — I went forth to excoriate the bosom of old Mother Earth."

            "You mean to say, John, that you ploughed?"

            "Aye, James, I ploughed. For the space of three hours I guided the 'shining share' and a noble pair of Cayuse steeds — steeds to which I at once gave classical names, and very appropriate ones, I may now say."

            "Did you name them Galanthe and Podarge, after the horses of Hector?"

            "No, James; but Abastar and Abatos, in honor of the horses of Pluto."

            "With those horses of Hades you ploughed for three hours, John?"

            "About that period of time, James. Then a most unforeseen circumstance gave a new direction to my mental and physical energies. A root, James — a root in appearance resembling one of the mighty serpents of Africa — a most active root, arose and projected itself into my face, causing two front teeth and the classic outlines of my nose to disappear. The plough, unguided, proceeded into the pedestal upon which at a former period had towered a noble oak. There it remained stationary, while I, James, continued to progress. I proceeded, James, to drop all euphemism — I proceeded over the handles of the plough and over the top of the stump, while Abastar and Abatos, with the beam of the implement of agriculture, went through two worn fences and to the realms of old Pluto himself, for aught I know."

            "A regular smash-up, John?"

            "It was, James — it was. While not perhaps equalling what we may imagine of the 'wreck of matter and crush of worlds,' still it was a wreck too painful for contemplation. And, James, I did not linger near the scene."

            "You departed?"

            "Aye, James, I departed. In emulation of the star of empire, westward I took my way. Across fields and commons I sped, nor halted in my occidental flight until my eyes were gladdened with the sight of masts and sails in the seaport town of Steilacoom. Cincinnatus of old left his plow in the furrow — in the crumbling soil, exposed to the vicissitudes of time and the elements — but, James I left what remained of mine firmly anchored in lasting oak."

            "Where it probably remains implanted to this day?"

            "I know not, James — I know not. I only know that from that hour, pregnant of painful and disastrous events, I ceased to be a tiller of the soil. For three long hours I enjoyed those calm joys which soothe the soul of the husbandman, my heart trilling Georgics equal to the original Virgilian."

            "You were a Bobby Burns, John?"

            "I was, James —

                                    'But pleasures are like poppies spread,

                                    You seize the flower, its bloom is shed.'"

            "From Bobbie himself!"

            "As I beheld the masts of Steilacoom, James, I said — 'This day I leave the treacherous land; all my ploughing now shall be to plough the raging main!'"

            "In other words, John, after all your fine notions about surface life and Granger joys, at the end of three hours you 'took water?'"

            "Don't be slangy, James! I became temporarily one of those 'that go down to the sea in ships that do business in great waters.'"

DAN DE QUILLE.