THE

SAZERAC LYING CLUB.

 

__________

 

 

A NEVADA BOOK

 

BY

 

FRED H. HART,

 

 

EDITOR OF THE AUSTIN (NEVADA) REVEILLE.

 

 

 

__________

 

 

SAN FRANCISCO:

HENRY KELLER & CO,

1878.

 

 

 

COPYRIGHT, 1878.

BY HENRY KELLER & Co.

 

 

Some books are lies frae end to end,

And some great lies were never penn'd.

E'en ministers, they ha'e been kenn'd

In holy rapture,

A rousing wind, at times, to vend,

And nail't wi' Scripture.

BURNS.

 

 

 

DEDICATION.

To each and every person who may purchase

it, and pay cash for it, this volume is

respectfully dedicated, by

THE AUTHOR

 

 

 

INTRODUCTORY.

 

            LYING, LIKE other arts and sciences, keeps pace with our education, refinement, and culture, and is fast becoming familiarized to the American people. Though I have classed it with the arts and sciences, and although there is something artistic in the construction of a good lie, and notwithstanding that a good, square, solid lie is a scientific triumph, still, I am of the opinion that lying should more properly be considered as an accomplishment. A "gentlemanly accomplishment," it was once designated by a Nevada newspaper. And yet, I have seen men who possessed the accomplishment in the highest degree of perfection, and still were not gentlemen. That, however, does not prove or premise that gentlemen cannot lie.

            In the days of the Father of his Country -- if we are to believe a little story about an adventure he is said to have had in connection with a cherry tree, and which story is still extant -- lying was looked upon as wrong. But that was before the time of the steam-engine, the electric telegraph, daily newspapers, stocks and stock-brokers, and other modern improvements. To-day, to lie, and lie well, is meritorious, and besides, there's money in it, which of itself is sufficient to make it commendable. I am personally acquainted   with some of the most prominent citizens of the Pacific Coast, who have made colossal fortunes simply by lying, or to speak with gloved words by doctoring the truth about stocks and mines ; and those men are respected and looked up to, courted and flattered, called smart, and good business men, when the unadorned English of it is that they are only good liars, and have made their lying pay.

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8 INTRODUCTORY.

            It is hardly worth while to say anything about political liars, because every one knows that lying is part of a politician's trade, and will continue to be, in spite of the Scriptures, earthquakes, and Civil Service Reform, as long as politicians are human. There may be politicians who cannot lie by word of mouth, but they lie in the silent tomb. In other words, the race of truthful politicians is extinct ; or if there are still living men who will not or cannot lie to get office, it is because they are not office-seekers.

            This purports to be a book on lies and lying, but it does not treat of the lies of politicians, stock-brokers, newspaper men, authors, and others, who lie for money; neither does it touch on the untruths of scandal, mischief, or malice, but only on those lies which amuse, instruct and elevate, without harm. It is a record of lies told in a club known as the Sazerac Lying Club, whose objects, as its name implies, are lying. A chapter is devoted to the rise, progress, and history of this club, interspersed with these lies. The book contains a number of sketches of odd characters in Nevada, and local narratives of life in Austin, written by the Author, and published from time to time in the columns of the AUSTIN REVEILLE, of which paper the writer has for several years been editor, and which have been clipped from the files of that journal, and made to do service in padding out this book to a sellable size.

            The book has been compiled and prepared in the intervals of daily editorial labor, and no claim of literary merit is made for it. The majority of the clipped sketches have been widely copied by the press, which circumstance has had weight in causing him to believe that they possess some little merit in a humorous sense ; but of that, as well as the other material herein contained, which has never before appeared in print, the reader must be the judge. This is not a " no cure no pay " book, and booksellers are instructed, under no circumstances, to return money to persons who pronounce it a fraud. If his wishes in this matter are strictly carried into effect, the bookseller will at once proceed to bounce the dissatisfied customer, and reason with him to the fullest extent of his muscular ability. All of which is respectfully submitted by

THE AUTHOR.

 

Part I

Origin of the Sazerac Lying Club

__________

 

            In the year 1873, I was employed in an editorial capacity on a small daily paper, the "REESE RIVER REVEILLE," published in the town of Austin, State of Nevada. This was a sort of general utility position, comprising all the branches of interior journalism, from writing an advertisement about a lost dog up to heavy dissertations on leading topics. But the main object was to get items of local news.

            Austin is a small, interior mining town, ninety miles, by a rough road, from the Central Pacific Railroad, having its communication with the outer world carried on by means of mud-wagons, called by courtesy stages ; and, it can readily be conceived, a quiet place, in which anything of a startling nature in the line of news seldom transpires.

            There was no difficulty about the leaders or other editorial matter ; a pair of sharp shears, a raid on the exchanges, and texts from the telegraphic news daily supplied to the paper, would readily furnish them ; but to make up respectable local columns was a constant strain on the mental capacity and legs of the writer, and he had almost said, " on the imagination," but a strict moral training in early life, etc., caused him to confine himself strictly to facts.

The First President.

            Situated on the main street of the town is a drinking saloon, bearing the sign of "The Sazerac," after the famous brand of brandy of that name. This saloon was the resort of a number of choice spirits other than those kept behind the bar old forty-niners and California pioneers for the most part who during the long winter evenings sat around the stove, smoked their pipes, fired tobacco juice at a mark on the stovepipe, and swapped lies and other reminiscences. I had long had my eye on the place as one liable at any time to pan out the text for a local, and would drop in there nearly every evening and listen to the conversation, in the

[9]

10 THE SAZERAC LYING CLUB.

hope of picking up from it the hoped-for item ; but the stories were generally so outrageously devoid of all semblance of truth or appearance of probability that, as a consistent journalist, whose mission and duty it was to present the public with cold, bald-faced facts, I was unable to reconcile my conscience to the " writing up " and publication of the yarns. On one of these visits I found the old crowd in the saloon, sitting around the stove as usual, but the orator of the evening was a new man -- one well known in the town, although this was his first appearance at the re-unions. He was sitting in front of the fire, in an arm-chair tilted back, and the heels of his boots resting on the top of the stove, his feet shutting entirely from view two-thirds of the company. One of the most remarkable things about this man, next to his legs of course, was his feet. They were fearfully and wonderfully made, and their owner had repeatedly refused liberal offers for their use as battery stamps in a quartz mill ; but had on one occasion consented for a valuable consideration to stand during a fire on the top of three cases of dry goods to protect them from damage by water. Of his legs I will speak hereafter.

            Mr. George Washington Fibley, which is not his true name, but by which I designate him, through dread of the law of libel, was telling the assemblage a yarn about a pile of silver bars he had seen in one of the Pacific Mexican ports. It appears that before my entrance the discussion was concerning silver bullion, and Mr. Fibley -- to use the language of one of the gentlemen present -- was "jest raisin the rest of 'em out of their boots." His story was evidently an outrageous exaggeration -- there could be no doubt of that ; for all the silver ever produced by the famed bonanzas of the Comstock, if heaped up, would not make a pile seven miles long, forty feet high, and thirteen feet wide, and it was in the neighborhood of these figures that Mr. Fibley placed the dimensions of the stack of silver he was describing. The story did not impress me at the time as being worthy of publication as a local item ; and I went out of the saloon, thinking what a magnificent liar this man was, how he had mistaken his vocation, and what a splendid journalist that elastic and towering imagination might make of him.

            The next day was fearfully stormy -- such a storm of snow and wind as is only seen in the mountains and "local" was as scarce as honest savings bank presidents. I was almost in despair about filling the local columns, and mechanically went to the door, opened it, and looked out into the storm for inspiration. The street was deserted, all was bleak and blank, and I was on the point of going back into my sanctum to meditate on the most painless method of death by suicide, when the narrator of the preceding evening crossed the street.

            Just then the office devil howled " copy ! "

            I seized pencil and paper, and the following was the result :

ORIGIN OF THE SAZERAC LYING CLUB.           11

            "ELECTED PRESIDENT.-- The Sazerac Lying Club was organized last night, our esteemed, prominent, and respected fellow-citizen, Mr. George Washington Fibley, being unanimously chosen president of the organization. There was no opposing candidate; his claims and entire fitness for the honorable position being conceded by common consent of the Club."

            The above appeared in the paper that evening, and created considerable amusement, not only among the Sazerac frequenters, but for all those who knew the subject of the item.

            There was trouble next day. Mr. Fibley read the paragraph about his elevation to the Presidency of the Club, and was exceedingly wroth; and in the course of the afternoon he rushed into the sanctum to demand an apology, or a retraction, or some similar foolishness. Happening to look through a window, I could see him coming. He had ridiculously long legs, and walked with a cane and an extraordinarily long stride, which increased when he was angry in proportion as his indignation grew; and when he was real, downright mad, as on this occasion, they seemed to stretch the width of an average street at every step. At such a time he appeared to be nothing but legs and head -- as if an effort had been made to split his body in two, and had failed through the cutting instrument striking an obstruction at his chin. He was mad this time, sure enough ; I could tell it by his walk ; and as he entered the office door there was blood in his eye and rage in his face. In his right hand he held a roll of manuscript of nearly the diameter of a stove-drum, and his cane was raised threateningly on high. My eyes were fixed principally on the cane ; but as he strode into the door-way he thrust the manuscript at me, and exclaimed :

            " He who steals my purse, steals trash ! "

            " Stop ! stop ! Mr. Fibley," I interrupted, thankful that hostilities had opened in so mild a form. " Never mind your purse, nor your good name, nor that communication in your hand. It was all a mistake. I will apologize."

            "See that you do, sir, and amply, or by Jehosaphat " and then he tucked his roll of paper under his arm, and without another word walked

[Illustration]

" He who steals my purse, steals trash."

12 THE SAZERAC LYING CLUB.

out, but looking back as he closed the door, and giving his legs, body, and paper a threatening shake more emphatic than speech.

            I had promised to apologize. Writing an apology is not a pleasant task for an editor. His soul revolts at it. When one has said that the minister ran away with the deacon's wife, and it turns out that it was not the deacon's wife, but the deacon's wife's mother who accompanied the minister in his flight, it is rough to be compelled to apologize to the old lady on her return -- not that ministers ever run away with deacons' wives' mothers, but just to suppose a case, for the sake of illustration. When you have written up a public ball, and said that " Mrs. Smithers, wife of our respected fellow-citizen, Hon. Thomas Jefferson Smithers, who did himself and the county so much credit in the Legislature eleven years ago, was charmingly dressed in green tarletan, and had her hair in curls," when the fact of the case is that she looked like the last rose of summer, and was dressed in a yellow silk, and had her hair done up in a wad on top of her head, it is mortifying to the editorial heart to have to take back the green tarletan and curls in the next issue of the paper. These, however, are but chips of the cross a country editor has to bear.

            But I had said that I would atone in the REVEILLE for the slight cast upon Mr. Fibley's fair fame, and it had to be done. I did it, and the retraction, verbatim et literatim, read as follows :

            "APOLOGETIC.--  An apology is due from the REVEILLE to Mr. George Washington Fibley. We said in yesterday's issue that he was elected President of the Sazerac Lying Club. This was an error ; he was defeated."

            Mr. Fibley was satisfied, his ruffled feelings modified, and from that time forward we were the best of friends.

Home; Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8; Part 9; Part 10