Two Or Three
Hundred Men Were At Work Upon What Had Formerly Been The Bed
Of The River.
By unwritten law, each miner was entitled to a
certain portion of the 'bar,' as it was called, in which the
gold is found.
And, as the precious metal has to be obtained
by washing, the allotments were measured by thirty feet on
the banks of the river and into the dry bed as far as this
extends; thus giving each man his allowance of water.
Generally three or four combined to possess a 'claim.' Each
would then attend to his own department: one loosened the
soil, another filled the barrow or cart, a third carried it
to the river, and the fourth would wash it in the 'rocker.'
The average weight of gold got by each miner while we were at
the 'wet diggin's,' I.E. where water had to be used, was
nearly half an ounce or seven dollars' worth a day. We saw
three Englishmen who had bought a claim 30 feet by 100 feet,
for 1,400 dollars. It had been bought and sold twice before
for considerable sums, each party supposing it to be nearly
'played out.' In three weeks the Englishmen paid their 1,400
dollars and had cleared thirteen dollars a day apiece for
their labour.
Our presence here created both curiosity and suspicion, for
each gang and each individual was very shy of his neighbour.
They did not believe our story of crossing the plains; they
themselves, for the most part, had come round the Horn; a few
across the isthmus. Then, if we didn't want to dig, what did
we want? Another peculiarity about us - a great one - was,
that, so far as they could see, we were unarmed. At night
the majority, all except the few who had huts, slept in a
zinc house or sort of low-roofed barn, against the walls of
which were three tiers of bunks. There was no room for us,
even if we had wished it, but we managed to hire a trestle.
Mattress or covering we had none. As Fred and I lay side by
side, squeezed together in a trough scarcely big enough for
one, we heard two fellows by the door of the shed talking us
over. They thought no doubt that we were fast asleep, they
themselves were slightly fuddled. We nudged each other and
pricked up our ears, for we had already canvassed the
question of security, surrounded as we were by ruffians who
looked quite ready to dispose of babes in the wood. They
discussed our 'portable property' which was nil; one decided,
while the other believed, that we must have money in our
pockets. The first remarked that, whether or no, we were
unarmed; the other wasn't so sure about that - it wasn't
likely we'd come there to be skinned for the asking. Then
arose the question of consequences, and it transpired that
neither of them had the courage of his rascality. After a
bit, both agreed they had better turn in. Tired as we were,
we fell asleep. How long we had slumbered I know not, but
all of a sudden I was seized by the beard, and was conscious
of a report which in my dreams I took for a pistol-shot. I
found myself on the ground amid the wrecks of the trestle.
Its joints had given way under the extra weight, and Fred's
first impulse had been to clutch at my throat.
On the way back to San Francisco we stayed for a couple of
nights at Sacramento. It was a miserable place, with nothing
but a few temporary buildings except those of the Spanish
settlers. In the course of a walk round the town I noticed a
crowd collected under a large elm-tree in the horse-market.
On inquiry I was informed that a man had been lynched on one
of its boughs the night before last. A piece of the rope was
still hanging from the tree. When I got back to the 'hotel'
- a place not much better than the shed at Yuba Forks - I
found a newspaper with an account of the affair. Drawing a
chair up to the stove, I was deep in the story, when a huge
rowdy-looking fellow in digger-costume interrupted me with:
'Say, stranger, let's have a look at that paper, will ye?'
'When I've done with it,' said I, and continued reading. He
lent over the back of my chair, put one hand on my shoulder,
and with the other raised the paper so that he could read.
'Him as they sus-spended yesterday mornin'. Jim was a
purticler friend o' mine, and I help'd to hang him.'
'A friendly act! What was he hanged for?'
'When did you come to Sacramenty City?'
'Day before yesterday.'
'Wal, I'll tell yer haow't was then. Yer see, Jim was a
Britisher, he come from a place they call Botany Bay, which
belongs to Victoria, but ain't 'xactly in the Old Country. I
judge, when he first come to Californy, 'baout six months
back, he warn't acquainted none with any boys hereaway, so he
took to diggin' by hisself. It was up to Cigar Bar whar he
dug, and I chanst to be around there too, that's haow we got
to know one another. Jim hadn't been here not a fortnight
'fore one of the boys lost 300 dollars as he'd made a cache
of. Somehow suspicions fell on Jim. More'n one of us
thought he'd been a diggin' for bags instead of for dust; and
the man as lost the money swore he'd hev a turn with him; so
Jim took my advice not to go foolin' around, an' sloped.'
'Well,' said I, as my friend stopped to adjust his tobacco
plug, 'he wasn't hanged for that?'
''Tain't likely!
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