Martin Johnson,
published author, historian, columnist, and reporter, has been on
staff since March 2004. Martin has 60 years of entrepreneur
experience, and 10 years experience in an advertising agency. His
column Legends of the Gold Country are factual accounts of
life in Calaveras County and surrounding areas before and during
the gold rush era. He has appeared before local Rotary clubs to
talk about his column and share tales of this colorful gold rush
history.
Martin brings this era alive again
in his column 'Legends of the Gold Country' based on his books, in the Gold Country
Times newspaper.
Editor's Note: Author Red Johnson's books, 'Murder in the Gold Country, Hacalitas Gang's Raid on
Rancheria'
and
'Hell Will be To Pay, the True Story of Henry Plumer'
have been published in monthly excerpts in his monthly column.
Go online to:
www.redjohnsonwesternauthor.com to order his books.
Legends 2008
LEGENDS 2008
LEGENDS 2009
LEGENDS 2010 - 2011
In Search for His Fortune
Part 4
Part 3
Part 2
Part 1
Welcome to Nevada City
Part 3
Part 2
Part 1
Henry Plumer's
True Story is Back!
Part 10
Part 9
Part 8
Part 7
In Search for
His Fortune Chapter 9, Part 4
Last Month: Dr. Hodges knew men of courage and believed this man in
front of him was one of exceptional courage. He was tempted to test
fate. He was broke and knew this newcomer had a big grub stake in
his saddle bags.
There was no question if he survived the fight he would have at
least several hundred dollars. Looking into those cold eyes told
him the risk was higher than the return. He probably would not
survive.
"I’m holstering slowly, you have nothing to worry about. I was
concerned that you may have wanted to rob me. If you did, you would
find nothing on
my body, or saddle
bags. I am flat broke. I have made and lost a couple of fortunes,
and right now I haven’t supper dust. That is the truth of my
circumstances, sir". Dr. Hodges confessed his terrible situation.
"I
am sorry for your circumstances, and I am just being cautious to
retain what little I have", Henry replied as he uncocked and
holstered his 51’ Colt. His hand remained within inches of being
able to pull the pistol in a heart beat. He would not trust this
man.
"You are a cautious one. I doubt I could beat you straight up,
huh?" Dr. Hodges frankly inquired. "I doubt you could, sir", Henry
replied in a friendly but firm manner. He reached behind with his
left hand to his saddle bags, never taking his eye off the man in
front of him. He had made up several small bags of gold dust he had
bartered for to pay minor expenses while prospecting. Many
merchants and individuals took only gold dust for payment of goods
and services.
Henry tossed a $20.00 bag of gold dust to Dr. Hodges and stated:
"This is a loan. I expect 10% interest, annual that is" Henry
declared sincerely.
"You got it!" Dr.
Hodges replied. "I thank you, Mr. Plumer, you are a generous man.
May I give you some friendly advice?" He asked. "Of course, sir"
Henry replied.
"Don’t camp on top of the mountains ahead", Dr Hodges suggested and
continued with his explanation: "There are Black bears, Brown Bears
and Grizzly bears that love the berries on top of these mountains.
Ahead, the hill tops are loaded with berries right now, and the
area is thick with bears. Two tore up my camp last night, and that
is what has made me a mad hatter. They ripped my tent, my bedding,
and travel bag to shreds. I was lucky I was taking a morning
constitution, or they would have ripped me up, too." The doctor
concluded his hard luck story and piece of advice.
Henry reached into his saddle bag for another dust bag.
"No, that’s not why I shared the story. I’m sharing it to help you.
Don’t get near the mountain ridges ahead. Good traveling, and watch
out for highwaymen ahead", Dr. Hodges said with a smile as he
kicked his
horse to get going
down the trail toward Nevada City. "And to you, sir" Henry replied.
Somehow, Henry knew he had just escaped a robbery attempt. The
doctor was well over six foot tall, broad shoulders, 25-26 years of
age, and would be handsome if he didn’t have the bridge of his nose
smashed flat to his face. He had sandy hair with a chin goatee of
the same color. His large size didn’t take away the fact he was
quick of action, agile, and somewhat hyperactive by nature. Henry
could tell it may have been a close call to draw against the man,
but he would have if needed.
The doctor’s eyes were bright, active and yet had a sense of
intelligence. Henry had not allowed himself to be fooled by his
introduction as a medical doctor. He had no idea if it was a
legitimate title or not. That did not matter to his circumstance.
His observations in San Francisco taught him that con men were
sometimes very good in the acting profession.
They could be
whomever they wanted to be, and deliver the character astonishingly
accurately.
As
he continued his journey, he was still convincing himself that the
man was a doctor. Why would a man of such education and training
become a common thief? It did not make much sense. Then there were
a lot of things in California that did not make sense. He would
just accept his new home for what it was.
The pined
mountains are beautiful in spring. New life was blooming all over
the hillsides. Young fawns were scampering about as their cautious
parents watched over them. Henry approached a meadow and reined up
as he saw two fawns chasing each other. He was camouflaged by
six-foot buck brush.
To Be
Continued
Back to Top
In Search for
His Fortune Chapter 9, Part 3
Last Month: Henry
meets Rob, talking with him as he sat on a home-made chair made
from tree limbs. The table was made from spit logs. The two men hit
it off from the get-go. ‘Birds of a feather’; as they say.
Henry was pleasantly surprised to find a person, not only from
Maine, but from Washington County. Time flew by as the two talked
about growing up in Maine. They went on for an hour. "Well, Henry,
I have enjoyed your
company. I must get
to work on finishing this barn and then I’m fencing in the pasture
for grazing cattle. Take a ride to Washington gold camp, and stop
back for supper. I’d like to finish our conversation then,
alright?" Rob asked. "I will do that, but I insist on paying for my
supper, or I’ll take it in town", Henry insisted politely. "No
person more stubborn than an New Englander; alright, will two bits
do you?" Rob offered Henry. "Seems pretty good to me" Henry agreed
as he swung back in the saddle.
"Keep your eye out for highway men. This country is full of them.
It’s a shame, when I first arrived you could leave your gold in
broad day light in your camp, and no one would touch it. Now, there
are more crooks than honest men in the gold fields. There are some
men that just don’t care about human life. They will risk their own
life for a bag of gold, or even the possibility of stealing a bag
of gold. The fact is they are lazy good-for-nothings that would
rather steal than work for their living. Just be careful", Rob
warned his new friend.
"Thank you for the warning. I will be on the look out", Henry
replied as he reined his horse around and back up the trail toward
Washington gold camp. The sun was straight up, and Henry had ridden
an hour from
Robinson’s Ranch when
he first heard and then saw a strange man approach from up trail.
"Dog-gone-it! If that doesn’t beat all. I have been fleeced by a
bear", the man seemed to be yelling at himself. Then he just let
out a scream that would curl the average man’s hair. Henry calmly
asked: "Are you alright, sir?" "Do I look alright, do I? the
stranger responded as he approached with a hand across his stomach.
"Do you not feel well, or should I assume you have a weapon in that
hand?" Henry asked in a matter of fact manner, showing no fear
what-so-ever. "Does it matter? Why could not both be true? Fact is,
I’m feeling lousy, and my hand is, as yours is, on my Colt".
The stranger, of course, was right on. Henry had his hand on the
butt of his pistol as a matter of caution. Henry slid his hand
confidently off the butt of his revolver and laid it on his right
thigh. The stranger did the same. "You are a confident one", the
stranger volunteered. "I have not released my inclination that you
could be a dangerous man. I just know my own abilities." Henry
simply explained and grinned. "By God, I believe you do. My name is
Doctor Thomas J. Hodges of Tennessee, medical doctor that is", he
said as he gave an out reached right hand to shake. Henry had
noticed that the man was left handed, but offered his right to be
shaken. Henry reached out with his right and pulled his pistol from
its holster with his left. He was as good a shot with either
hand, and while riding a horse, the cross draw holster was back on
his hip to allow drawing the pistol with either hand.
The two men had a pistol pointed to each others bellies. "Smart
man, too" Dr. Hodges stated. "My pistol is cocked, I believe yours
is not, sir", Henry stated firmly. "You’re right again, sir. You’re
right again. Now what do we do?" Dr. Hodges inquired. "You place
your pistol slowly back in its holster, and I shall do the same.
You do anything else and I will kill you", Henry said, looking
directly into the man’s eyes.
Dr. Hodges sat for a moment staring into the cold blue-grey eyes of
Henry Plumer. Every sense he had said that this young man meant
exactly what he said. If he moved wrongly, he would kill him. He
knew that he would also be able to kill the newcomer. Dr. Hodges
had fought in the Mexican American War as a Non-Commissioned
officer. He joined the conflict directly out of medical school.
Death was something he faced on a regular basis for two years. He
also knew men of courage and he believed this man in front of him
was one of exceptional courage. As he stared into Henry Plumer’s
eyes, he was tempted to test fate. He was broke and knew this
newcomer had a big grub stake in his saddle bags.
To Be Continued
Back to Top
In
Search for His Fortune Chapter 9, Part 2
Last Month: Henry rode out the Nevada Trail to the north, north
east of Nevada City. Sticking out of his saddle bags were claim
stakes. One could never tell when they might be needed. Although,
this was an exploratory trip, he just may find his El Dorado!
The trail went right by the first log cabin in Nevada City. On the
hill behind and extending as far as one could see up the hill, was
one coyote hole after another. Miners were like ants working an ant
hill. They dug the dirt up and packed it down the hill to Deer
Creek to wash out. One Long Tom at the rivers edge seemed to be 100
feet long. Several "companies" of men had gotten together to build
the largest Long Tom in the country. It would not be long until
some other company(s) would build a larger one. Any good idea for
extracting gold was quickly copied in the mining country. Henry
rode his horse down along the Long Tom to check out its
construction. Simple in design it was very effective. Water washed
along the long rectangular box that had slats in the bottom to
catch heavier materials. Gold is very heavy and would get caught in
the slats while lighter materials would wash out the end of the
Long Tom.
Henry had read that a rocker, with two men, could handle 5 yards of
dirt a day, which beat the average gold pan of 1 yard a day. The
sluice box and a Long Tom could produce, with three men working, 5
yards washed per day. That was a Long Tom that was 12 feet long and
8" deep. The measurement of the Long Tom he was looking at had to
be at least a 100 feet long and 12" deep. Quick math said that at
one 100 feet long it could handle 40 yards of dirt a day, or more!
There were ten men shoveling and picking out of the piles of dirt
left by the coyote hole diggers.
Ordinary rocks were discarded, but quartz was saved as the area had
yielded high grade gold from the quartz found there. The sight of
those miners excited Henry even more; he had to get to his
destination. Fact was, he really had no idea where that would be,
but he somehow knew it was ahead on the Nevada Trail.
A
couple miles out of Nevada City he entered a beautiful valley. The
grass was green and tall. He saw a man building a barn at the other
end of the valley. The closer he got, the more he liked what he
saw. His family roots, on his father’s side, were in farming and
ranching. This spread was near perfect. A small cabin and large
barn; the owner was serious about getting into the cattle business.
Henry approached cautiously. Some men would shoot first and ask
questions later. "Good morning!" Henry said it a bit like matter of
fact and am I welcome all rolled into one. He made no sign to
dismount.
"That it is! Have you eaten, sir?" the gentleman asked in a
definite New England accent. Henry had not even given it a thought
to eat that morning. He had been so excited about finding his El
Dorado! The gentleman had asked it as a rhetorical question. He
knew the young man in front of him was too busy that morning
getting ready to get rich than to think of food. "No, sir, I have
not" Henry confessed. "Well, give that horse a break, and I’ll
share some grub with you", the gentleman volunteered. "Henry Plumer,
in your debt, sir", Henry said as he swung down off his saddle
mare.
"Robinson, sir. Rob is fine", the gentleman replied and continued:
"What part of Maine are you from?", he politely asked Henry.
"Addison, Washington County, and you, sir?" Henry asked.
"Washington County, also!" Rob informed Henry, and continued: "Not
from as big a city as Addison, though", Rob chuckled, as he knew
Addison was a long way from any big city.
"How long have you been here in California?" Henry asked as he sat
on a homemade chair made from tree limbs. The table was made from
spit logs. "Came here in 50’. That place you just rode from was a
small village." The two men hit it off from the get go. ‘Birds of a
feather’, as they say.
To Be
Continued
Back to Top
In
Search for His Fortune Chapter 9, Part 1
Last Month: Outside a crowd had gathered. One man point blank
asked: "Who got shot? Anyone killed?" "Several bottles" Henry said
with a smile.
He
crossed Main Street cutting back across Union Alley to the Placer
Hotel. The hotel clerk greeted Henry with: "Well, how was your
welcome?" "Very good! I found the gentlemen at the Empire most
agreeable" He responded to a surprised hotel clerk. It was again a
beautiful Spring morning. The air was crisp, clean and a slight
wind blowing. There was nothing to prevent traveling, and every
reason to do so. What a great day for a ride. Henry crossed the
street from his hotel to the Lancaster Livery Stable, and was again
greeted with a smile. He really liked Nevada City people. They
seemed genuine.
"I
would like to hire a horse for the day, maybe two days. I’m not
sure, frankly, of where I’m going, and what kind of country I’m
going through. No idea at all." Henry explained. "That is fine sir.
It will be $2.00 a day in advance. If for some reason I have to
retrieve my horse and tack, you will be responsible for such
expenses?" the hostler asked with frankness.
"I
agree to those terms." Henry replied. Another young man entered the
Livery stable. He was dressed to the hilt. He wore a black beaver
silk top hat, a three-quarter length four button light jacket. He
had a high forehead, neatly trimmed beard, and mustache. Clutched
in his left hand was a walking stick he seemed not to need.
"Good morning Mr. Searls" the hostler immediately
greeted the man. "And to you Mr. Lancaster", the young man returned
the hostler's salutation. Henry got the sense that Mr. Searls was a
man of importance in Nevada City. "Mr. Searls, this here is Henry
Plumer, a new comer", the hostler introduced Henry. "A good morning
to you sir, and welcome to our city. My full name is Niles Searls,
and should you need a lawyer, I’m at your service", Niles
volunteered.
"I’ll keep that in mind. How long does it take to wear off this
"newcomer" title?", Henry asked with a smile. "Depends who you
speak with. I visited General Sutter, and he still considered me a
newcomer, and I arrived two years ago", Niles responded with a
chuckle.
Henry felt Niles was a regular guy, not like some of the San
Francisco lawyers he had met. "I know how exciting that first trip
out is to a newcomer. You have the look of a man with his destiny
in his hands", Niles observed. "Fact is, I am excited. I’m usually
pretty level headed, but right now, I am about as excited as I have
been in my life." Henry replied honestly. "I have traveled from
here to the Oregon boarder on prospecting trips. When I first
arrived I took off on every piece of news of a strike. I don’t do
that any more" Niles confessed. "Why is that?" Henry inquired. "By
the time I reached a good strike, all the best claims were taken,
and most of the trips resulted in the rumor being a hoax", Niles
responded. He continued: "If I were you, Mr. Plumer, I would stay
as close to home base, wherever that is, and let the fools like me
run off on those rumors of great strikes", Niles concluded his
advice.
"Somehow I don’t see you as a fool, but I am thankful for the
advice, sir", Henry said as he mounted his hired horse. "You got
that right, Mr. Plumer.
Mr. Searls is one of
Nevada City’s V.I.P’s", Lancaster volunteered. "I figured as much",
Henry replied grinning toward Niles. Niles gave a half hearted
salute, just enough to prove he had never been in the military, and
yet a friendly jester. Niles sensed his new acquaintance was an
intelligent man.
Henry returned the salute and turned his horse up Union Alley
toward Main Street. Passing the Empire Saloon, Henry thought of his
first experience in Nevada City. It was "fun". Henry rode out the
Nevada Trail to the north, north east of Nevada City. Sticking out
of his saddle bags were claim stakes. One could never tell when
they might be needed. Although this was an exploratory trip, he
just may find his El Dorado!
To Be
Continued
Back to Top
Welcome to Nevada City-3
Last Month: Big John
didn’t care if he had a couple more holes in his wall. There were
plenty there now. Besides, he wanted to see that new colt he had
read about in action himself. Henry thought through what was going
on, and decided he would give a demonstration.
He would be establishing his ability with a gun,
without having to be in a gun fight with a person. Big John set up
three empty bottles about six inches apart on the table. Henry was
about twenty feet away when Billy Mayfield said: "Fire away!" Henry
waited a moment for Big John to get far enough away that he would
not pick up flying glass. At first Billy thought his new
acquaintance was hesitating, and then he realized what he was
doing.
"Now, are you ready?" Billy asked, and just as he said "ready",
Henry went for his pistol. Before the last syllable of "ready" came
out, an eight-inch flame had exploded out the end of Henry’s
pistol. The noise was near deafening in the confined space of the
bar.
Henry fired three consecutive shots. The first two hit the bottles
dead center, sending glass all directions; the third
went right of its target. Henry fired a fourth shot and the bottle
blew to smithereens. "Big John, I do believe you saved that old
drunk's life", Billy stated factually. "Looks that way, huh? That
was some good shootin’ Henry Plumer", Big John acknowledged.
"Henry, that Colt must be comfortable in the hand. You didn’t move
around much for a point of impact, and there wasn’t much recoil.
Your barrel only jumped a couple inches", Billy stated. "Yes, it is
comfortable. It’s like part of your hand. You’re just pointing a
long finger. It’s a comfortable fit in my hand. Also, it’s a 36
caliber so doesn’t kick like a Missouri mule. I’m out of practice;
as you could tell, I missed one", Henry confessed.
"Oh, that is funny! I could have hit one of the bottles, with a
lucky shot. I do alright with my Bowie knife though", Billy
bragged. Billy threw his knife in the blink of an eye twenty feet
to a ceiling support, 12 by 12. The knife struck what would be on a
man chest-high. "That went through the heart", Billy bragged again
as he got up to retrieve his Bowie. "I believe you are correct",
Henry agreed. "You have beat more than one pistol draw, huh?" Henry
asked.
"Yes, I have. In my profession, one must be prepared at all times.
You sure you don’t have time for one hand?", Billy tried to entice
his new friend. "No, thank you. I must get some rest", Henry
replied politely. "Well, keep your practice up; by the end of
tomorrow the entire gold country will know of your shooting
ability. I would venture to say that those three bottles, by the
time they reach Sonora, will be three desperados", he said with a
chuckle.
"I
hear you. Good night my friend", Henry said with sincerity as he
exited the front door. Outside, a crowd had gathered. One man point
blank asked: "Who got shot? Anyone killed?" "Several bottles",
Henry said with a smile. He crossed Main Street, cutting back
across Union Alley to the Placer Hotel.
To Be
Continued
Back to Top
Welcome to Nevada City-2
Last Month: "There is a house rule at the Empire that new
greenhorns buy the house a round", the stranger demanded. "Sure
would not want to break any house rules", Henry replied in a
friendly but firm and confident manner.
"First, you state to the room who you are, so as to remove the
title 'stranger', and second, you agree to the house rule that the
barkeep splits
the cost as a gesture
of welcome to our society of the well liquefied customers of
Nevada". Big John, the barkeep, instantly liked the young man named
Henry Plumer. The guy was just likeable.
"I
do agree, and thank you, sir", Henry responded with surprise.
Turning to the room of about 20 people, now paying close attention
to what was happening at the bar, he announced: "My name is Henry
Plumer, and Nevada City is my new home". The men at the gambling
tables rose their glasses in a toast to the new-comer who had
declared himself a part of the town.
The half-drunk miner that had started the demand that Henry buy a
round, of course for selfish reasons, blurted out to Henry with
some anger in his voice, "What’s going on here? I set the rules of
this house." Henry stepped back to give himself room to pull his
colt if needed. The bartender reached across the two-foot bar top
made of two twelve-by slap boards and grabbed the miner by the
shirt, yanking him over the bar with ease as he bellowed out:
"I
make the rules in the Empire, and I just made a new one. Would you
like to know what that rule is?" he bellowed into the man
struggling to breathe. The man could not speak, but nodded his head
in the affirmative. "My new rule is that if I see you in the Empire
ten seconds after I am kind enough to let you down, I will break
your neck, and throw you to the hogs. Do you understand my new
rule?" he screamed into the ear of the disabled man. The man again
nodded in the affirmative. The bartender let him go and began to
count: "One, two, three, four, five."
The miner had cleared the front door on four. He knew better than
to challenge the bartender of The Empire Saloon, or he would end up
being hog food. "Henry, it will be two dollars for half the rounds.
I’m not charging you for that bummer. "Yes, sir", Henry replied as
he put two one-dollar coins on the bar. One of the men playing
cards called Henry over to thank him for the round. The man was
dressed like many professional gamblers he had seen in San
Francisco and Sacramento City. Henry was sure an invitation to join
the card game would soon follow.
"My name is Billy Mayfield", the gambler introduced himself. "Join
us for a friendly game of cards", Billy added to his introduction.
"Thank you, I would but I haven’t even settled into my hotel room.
Just came down to wash the dust out of my throat before sleeping
twelve hours" Henry replied in a quiet friendly manner. "All right,
another time then. You were ready to pull that pistol, weren’t
you?" Billy asked in a matter of fact manner. "Yes, sir, if needed"
Henry responded.
"That looks like one of those new colt pistols?" Billy inquired.
"Yes, it is. It
was a going away
present from my father". "May I see it?" asked Billy. "I have two
rules for myself. One, I don’t pull it unless I’m going to use it.
Two, I never give up my pistol to anyone. Sorry, cannot oblige you
on that. Please don’t take offense. It’s my rule", Henry said
sincerely. The quick-thinking Billy turned to the barkeeper and
asked: "Big John, would you like a little advertisement for your
establishment? Set up three empty bottles on that table over there.
I want to see how that new Colt performs."
Big John didn’t care if he had a couple more holes in his wall.
There were plenty there now. Besides, he wanted to see that new
colt he had read about in action himself. Henry thought through
what was going on, and decided he would give a demonstration.
To Be Continued
Back to Top
Welcome to Nevada City
Last Month: Scattered pine trees encircled the town, the lumber
from previous trees being used to build Nevada City, twice.
The stage crossed the Deer Creek Bridge and headed up Broad Street,
pulling up in front of the Placer Hotel. The passengers said their
salutation and each went their own way. Henry checked into the
hotel and his first thought was to see what seemed to him to be an
exciting place, the Empire Saloon. He would not gamble, but he
could have a couple of drinks and see if there was any "fun" going
on.
Asking the hotel clerk for directions, the clerk responded: "Good
place to stay away from. How long are you staying?" Henry replied
sternly: "I have been warned already, and I’ll be staying as long
as I have to." "No offense, just trying to be helpful, and I can’t
collect room rent from a dead man."
"Across the street is Lancaster’s Livery Stable. A hundred feet
south is Oglesby St., locals call it Union Alley. Cut through Union
Alley north; it dead ends on Main Street; Kristley & Crawford’s
place is on the south east corner. From there you can see the
Nevada Hotel sign across the street; the Empire Saloon is right
next door on the corner of the Nevada Trail and Main Street. Good
luck", the clerk concluded. Henry had washed off the road and
changed shirts for his first night on the town. It wasn’t dark yet
but he decided to head for the Empire Saloon. He had to see this
famous place everyone was talking about.
Passing the livery stable, he decided the next day he would hire a
horse and look at the countryside. He would ride to Alpha
Washington and check out the findings there. Arriving at the Empire
Saloon, he was somewhat disappointed. It didn’t seem too special;
slap board construction, and the most modern thing was a wood
burning stove. There weren’t twenty people in the saloon.
"I
heard this place was always crowded?" Henry questioned the
barkeeper. "Son, you come in here on Sunday and you won’t be able
to walk around five feet without bumping into five people. The
miners are working now. They are shoveling dirt to spend in here
Sunday. I do more business on Sunday than six saloons in Five
Corners, New York City. When did you arrive? the barkeep asked. "An
hour ago", Henry replied. "Figured that. What’s your name
greenhorn?" he asked in a more friendly tone. "Henry Plumer", Henry
replied. "Henry, the miners who come in here this time of the day
are those that shovel just enough dirt to keep their claims, and
then spend the rest of their time going after the easy money, like
fleecing greenhorns".
"Thanks for the warning", Henry replied sincerely. The words no
more left the barkeep’s mouth and a man approached the bar to order
a whiskey. "There is a house rule at the Empire that new greenhorns
buy the house a round", the stranger demanded. "Sure would not want
to break any house rules", Henry replied in a friendly but firm and
confident manner. "Bartender, please set up a round on me". "I’ll
do that stranger, on two conditions", the bartender replied. "And
what may those conditions be?" was the carefully worded response
from Henry.
To Be Continued
Red's books
available online at:
www.redjohnsonenterprises.com
Back to Top
Henry Plumer, Chapter 10
Last Month: He made
his decision and would hold to it. That is another good New
Englander trait. This would be his new home. It was not wrong for
him to want to make something of himself before consumption killed
him. He was determined to be the best that he could be.
"May I ask your name, sir?" Henry had spent
two days in a stagecoach with this very informative man, and didn’t
know his name. It was not like him to be so rude. His mind had been
on his destination, and how close he was to becoming rich! Henry
thought he must have seemed to have been the most standoffish, and
rude person to the other passengers.
"Charles W. Mulford, sir.
Charlie is fine. I have been in Nevada City since its inception. I
recommend the Placer Hotel because it is located near everything
important to your daily living, and across town from the Empire
Saloon. Also, it is not too far from Mulford
Bank", Charlie ended with a chuckle, obviously promoting his bank.
Charlie went on to ask, "What is your name, sir?"
"Henry Plumer, from
Madison County Maine, sir." Henry’s accent had easily given away
his place of origin. "Do you have relatives from New England here?"
Charlie asked. "Not that I know of, sir" Henry replied curiously.
"You’ll probably find someone here, if not a relative, someone from
your part of the country. Pioneers are from every corner of the
country, heck every corner of the world." Charlie informed.
I must apologize in advance
to the recklessness of our society in Nevada City. It is spring now
and this town is in the process of growing to God only knows how
many this mining season. Last year we grew from 12,000 to 20,000 in
the spring. I suspect more this season." Charlie seemed sincere
about his apology. "Where would you prospect
if you were me?" Henry asked directly to Charlie Mulford. "I like
your directness. Frankly, I would head north to Washington. Caleb
Greenwood discovered gold there a couple years ago, and it has
yielded a steady flow of the yellow ever since.
There are two camps that
are just above Washington, which would be another consideration,"
Charlie concluded. "Thank you, sir!" Henry was excited with this
in-formation. Something told him Charlie was shooting straight with
him, and being a banker, he would know the best and most current
information about the area.
There are four main
entrances to town; Main Street from the north, Pine Street from the
south, Nevada Trail from the northwest, and Broad Street bridge
from the east; where Prospect Hill Trail and Boulder Trail
converge. Had they not detoured in Grass Valley to let a passenger
off, they would have crossed the bridge and entered into town on
Bridge street, which immediately turned into Pine Street, over all
a much better road. As it was, the driver had to descend slowly on
Prospect Hill Trail. Although not a good road, it did give a good
view of town.
There was hardly a tree to
be seen. Far to the outskirts of town, one could see scattered pine
trees encircling the town, but still with considerable separation.
"I imagined Nevada City being in the middle of the forest" Henry
commented. "Where do you think we got all the lumber to build this
town… twice?" Charlie responded. "Of course, that makes perfect
sense", Henry replied.
To Be Continued
Back to Top
Henry Plumer, Chapter 9
Last Month: One would think they had
arrived in Nevada City when approaching Grass Valley. The two towns
had grown pretty much the same until gold was discovered on the
hill side north of Nevada City. Miners then flocked to make a
claim, and they began digging coyote holes immediately.
Those are vertical shafts that allowed the
miner to dig straight down until he reached the "Motherlode", or
other miscellaneous gold deposits. The population shifted
substantially to Nevada City. Grass Valley was built around Wolf
Creek and Nevada City by Deer Creek. Many times it snowed in Nevada
City and did not in Grass Valley, although the two towns are only
three miles apart. The stage rolled gradually down the Prospect
Hill Trail that passed a hill to the east called Gold Flat.
Henry had no idea at the
time how that hill would play into his future. He would be involved
in an incident there that would be talked about and debated over
for 150 years. As the stage rolled by it was just another hill with
an intriguing name. Maybe he would go there. After all they
couldn’t name a hill Gold Flat without a lot of gold on it. Henry’s
first sight of Nevada City brought mixed emotions. He had carefully
selected this town for his new home. He had traveled thou-sands of
miles across two oceans, across jungles, by river boat, and a
hundred and fifty miles by stagecoach. Now he was here! Now he
would prove himself a man. His future, however long it would be,
would be in Nevada City. The thought came he may strike it rich,
really rich. Those thoughts were exciting and gratifying, even for
a low key introvert like Henry.
He was at the end of his
nineteenth year when the doctor in Maine had given him his death
notice. Now he had just turned twenty one and was at his
destination. It seemed like five years since he left Maine, but it
was not that long. It had been only a little over a year. Then the
thought of possibly never seeing his family again brought sadness,
and a sense of regret. Coming from a strong New England family that
would sacrifice anything for family
made him feel selfish, and almost like an outcast, which he was
not, but the feeling was there. His parents and his siblings had
all helped in the preparation and financing of his move to
California. It was very hard on his mother. Her "Handy" was
leaving, and she sensed she would never see her son again. They all
knew what the doctor had said was true. Henry had a better chance
of good health in California. What they did not know was the
dangers of living in a gold camp. There were many such dangers.
Henry was a fast student, and was a determined young man. He would
succeed, and handle whatever fate had in store for him.
He could have stayed at
home with his family and not taken off like so many young men did
just for the gold. He didn’t have to listen to his doctor’s advice.
It may have cost him some time in life, but it would have been with
his family, and he would die with family around him. Those were
only fleeting thoughts. He made his decision and would hold to it.
That is another good New Englander trait. This would be his new
home. It was not wrong for him to want to make something of himself
before consumption killed him. He was determined to be the best
that he could be.
A passenger pointed across
the hill to the opposite side of the town, "There, over there! That
log cabin on the side of the hill. That’s Dr. Caldwell’s Upper
Store on the old Nevada Trail. He had the first building in Nevada,
the first store in Nevada. He moved out to near Illinois town when
we incorporated Nevada County last Spring." Another passenger went
on to say, "This town has doubled in size since my last visit
here."
The first passenger that
commented, Charlie Mulford, volunteered and addressed his comments
to Henry, "Young man, if you want some good advice, you stay away
from the Empire Saloon. There is a fight every night like clock
work. As soon as shots are fired, everyone scrambles for cover, but
not so far that they miss seeing the fun. Yes, sir, that is what
they call fights in Nevada City, fun!"
"Where would you recommend
a new comer to stay?" Henry asked sincerely. "I would stay at the
Placer Hotel (renamed the National Exchange Hotel in 1856, and is
the National Hotel today)", the stranger responded. "May I ask your
name, sir?" Henry had spent two days in a stagecoach and didn’t
know his name.
To Be
Continued
Back to Top
Henry Plumer, Chapter 8
Henry stroked the stage's body and
continued with a detailed description of her construction. Henry
squatted and pointed beneath the carriage body, and said: "There is
the secret of her great ride, and endurance. The thorough braces
are made of heavy manifold leather straps that the entire weight of
the body is suspended upon. They absorb the shocks of the road, and
the resulting shock to the horses. Man and beast ride more
comfortably. Twenty-five hundred pounds can be pulled easily with
six horses. "The New England craftsmen have labored to improve even
the best.
Then the finishing touch is John Burgum’s
hand-painted scenes on the doors. A Concord cannot leave the
factory without the artists’ final touch. After all, she is the
lady of the highways." Henry had stated all this in a very matter
of fact manner, almost in a low key presentation of such detail
about the Concord coach. He had not noticed that he had drawn the
attention of a half dozen people listening to every word. Henry was
not a boisterous person, nor a braggart. He was somewhat quiet by
nature, but one could tell he was quite proud of this wonderful New
England invention.
One of the nine passengers
spoke up for the first time: "I had one of the wildest, most
fantastic rides in my life on the first or maybe second Concord to
have come to California". He stated boldly. "Pray tell, do tell the
rest of that story" another passenger asked as they all boarded the
coach. "Well, I had booked passage to San Jose, then our
Territorial capital. The booking was with Ackley & Maurison, and
was to leave San Francisco Plaza at 8AM sharp. Had I known what was
going to occur that day, I surely would have waited for the next
stage."
"What happened?" an
anxious passenger asked. "I will get to that. The date was June 24,
1850. Does that ring a bell to anyone?" the story teller asked, and
a good story teller he is. One of the old timers in California
replied: "Yes, that was when we received the word that we had been
admitted to the Union". "Very good, you are correct, sir! The word
came via San Francisco, and the capital was San Jose". One
passenger interrupted and volunteered, "So, you were on the stage
that took the news to San Jose?" "No, sir, I was not", the
gentleman declared. That left everyone who thought they knew what
was coming rather perplexed.
"You see, I was on the
competing stage coach. Hall & Crandall’s carried Governor Peter
Burnett to San Jose with the news"; again he was interrupted.
"Well, who did your stage have on it to travel so fast to San
Jose?" he asked. "Nobody of importance in my stage. What happened
is that Jared Crandall himself, known as the "Prince of Drivers",
wanted to drive the Hall & Crandall stage with such an important
passenger and important message.
Ackley & Maurison and
driver were upset that the Governor had selected Hall & Crandall to
carry him and the news to San Jose. The former had always
advertised speed, and the latter safety. I guess the Governor had
chosen safety. Crandall saw this as an opportunity to display the
fact his company could also deliver speed. The race was on! Both
stages left at eight o’clock sharp. Through much of the sixty
miles, the horses were nose to nose. They were both Concord stages
and both had fine horses. It was thought the difference, if there
would be any, would be the drivers.
It was a lovely June day
in the bay area. I was so looking forward to a casual and
comfortable ride. I got a lot more than I bargained for. We made
San Jose in six hours flat! No lay over! The only stops were to
water and rest the horses, and they were timed. That Concord was
rocking back and forth, up and down, and front and back". "Who won?
Who won?"; one passenger could not stand the suspense.
"Jared Crandall and it was
in the last few miles he pulled ahead. Our horses had played out.
They had done their best. Hall & Crandall had proved not only
superior speed, but superior horse flesh. Of course, Jared Crandall
retained the title of 'Prince of drivers'". The story teller
chuckled. All the passengers, including Henry, had enjoyed the
story. Approaching the embarcadero on the American River, all eyes
were looking at the dilapidated Sutter’s Fort. It had been the hub
of all life in the Valley only a short few years earlier.
To Be Continued
Back to Top
Henry Plumer, Chapter 7
Henry thanked his new
acquaintance for all the information, and began walking down the
gang plank to the roughly put-together dock. It consisted of tree
trucks and slap boards. On the levee was a man in a carriage and a
sign "2 bits". Henry had promised himself he would save enough
money in San Francisco to arrive in first class to his new home.
Sacramento City wasn’t exactly his new home, but it was the gateway
to the gold fields. Henry waved his hand at the gentleman, who
immediately hopped down from his carriage and helped Henry with his carpet bags.
"Where to, sir?" the driver asked politely. "Sutter Hotel, sir.
Thank you for your assistance with the bags". Henry replied. "Would
you be liking a ride to the Grand Palace later, sir? It is a sight
to be seen. There is nothing like it in America; heck, maybe even
Europe. I’d just look if I were you, though."
"No, I think not. I want to keep my grubstake awhile." Henry said
sincerely. "I do understand that, sir. That is how I ended giving
up taxi. I am going to save up enough to outfit myself in Sam
Brannan’s place and head out to make another fortune. You see, I
had $8,000 dust when I arrived here in Sacramento City from the
northern mines. I hit it big. Every miner in the country envied me.
I was going to book myself back to the States on the first schooner
for San Francisco. I made the mistake of not just looking at the
Grand Palace. In one night, I lost the whole $8,000.00. All I had
left was my clothes and one horse and carriage."
"Sutter Hotel, Sir. Good luck in your venture to wealth. I can
testify it feels mighty good to hit it big, mighty good!", he said
as he hopped down with Henry’s baggage, and placed it on the
boardwalk in front of the Sutter Hotel. "Thank you! I will remember
your story, Sir. Good luck to your finding your second fortune."
Henry checked into his hotel and made arrangements for the morning
stage to Nevada City, via Rough & Ready and Grass Valley.
It
was early in the morning, the sun just rising over the Sierra
Nevada Mountains to the east. The air had a chill to it, and there
wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Henry thought of what his Maine country
side would look like this time of the year. No question about it,
there would be snow everywhere. Muddy, slushy roads and a
northerner could hit with no notice. The wind blowing across a
thousand miles of ice before reaching Maine. It would
send the temperatures
low enough to freeze a man’s breath. This California winter was
like a summer day in Maine.
The California Stage was full and with only one passenger destined
for Rough & Ready, all others were heading for Henry’s new home
town. Due to his health, he knew California would be his new home.
His lungs felt better already. Henry felt at home when he looked
over the coach. It was a Concord! A beautiful coach, and known as
the best in the world. One of the other passengers noticed Henry
looking at every detail of the coach, and commented: "A beautiful
lady, isn’t she?" "Yes, that she is, and a New Englander lady, at
that", Henry replied. "What part of New England are you from,
sir?", the stranger asked politely.
"Addison, Washington County, Maine", Henry replied. "You would have
seen her a lot back there; heck, I guess they are all over the
world now, huh?", the man volunteered. "Abbott, Downing & Company
began making these beauties in 1813", Henry said as he stroked the
stage's body and continued with a detailed description of her
construction. "This body is made from New England ash. The flooring
is from New England poplar trees. All the metal is of Norwegian
iron shipped from Norway. Those wheels are also of ash and so
carefully selected for their purpose they are known as the best
wheel in the world" Henry squatted and pointed beneath the carriage
body, and said, "There is the secret of her great ride, and
endurance.
To Be
Continued
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