Digging for Gold by Robert Michael Ballantyne (13 inch ebook reader .TXT) 📖

barely able to keep his legs, in consequence of a violent attack of dysentery which had reduced him to a mere shadow. The poor man could scarcely refrain from shedding tears of joy at the sight of his partner, who, to do him justice, was almost as much affected by sorrow at the miserable appearance presented by his friend.

"Sure it's dead I am intirely--all but," said Quin, as he wrung Jeffson's hand again and again; "if ye'd bin a day later it's my belaif I'd have gone under the sod."

"Well, you do look like it, Quin," said Jeffson, stepping back to take a more critical view of him. "What on airth pulled all the flesh off yer bones in this fashion?"

"Sickness, no less. Faix, there's more than me is in the same fix. Jim Dander, down at the cross creek, has got so thin that it's of no manner o' use looking at him sideways, he's not quite visible till he turns his flat front to ye. And Foxey is all but gone; and there's many a man besides as is on the road to the grave, if not there already. Sure, the doctor's the only man that makes money now, though he kills more than he cures. The baste called to try his hand on mysilf, but I flung my big boots at his head, an' saw no more of him."

"That's a bad account of things," said Jeffson; "however, here I am back again with fresh supplies, so cheer up, man, and we'll weather the storm yet. I've brought some fellow-travellers, you see, and hope you will receive them hospitably."

"That must not be," said Frank Allfrey, advancing, "it would be unfair to put your friend to unnecessary trouble, considering the state of weakness to which--"

"Waikness, is it?" exclaimed Quin, seizing Frank's hand and shaking it; "well, now, it's little I thought I'd iver live to be called waik! Howsever, it's too thrue, but me moral strength is wonderful, so you're heartily welcome, if ye can slaip on a plank floor an' ait salt-pork an' paise. There, now, don't be botherin' a sick man wid yer assurances. Just make yerselves at home, gintlemen, an' the head o' the firm will git yer supper ready."

Saying this, the poor man, who was quite worn out with excitement and the exertion of welcoming his partner, flung himself on his couch with a deep sigh. As Jeffson also pressed his friends to remain, they made no further objection.

While supper was being prepared, Frank and Joe went out to look at the diggers.

"Now," said the former as they sauntered along the bank of the river, "the question that you and I must settle at once is, are we two to work by ourselves, or are we to join with our late friends, and work in company?"

"Jine 'em, say I," replied Joe. "I'm fond of Meyer, and I like the Scotchman too, though he is rather fond of argification; besides, it strikes me that from what we have heard of diggers' ways, we shall be the better of being a strong party."

"Four men don't form a very strong party, Joe; however, I agree with you. It would be well that we four should stick together. So, that's settled, and now we shall go and ask yonder fellow in the red shirt and big boots something about our prospects."

The scene in the midst of which they now found themselves was curious, interesting, and suggestive. For two miles along its course the banks of the river were studded with tents, and on each side of it were diggers, working at short distances apart, or congregated together, according to the richness of the deposits. About twenty feet was the space generally allowed at that time to a washing machine. Most of the diggers worked close to the banks of the stream, others partially diverted its course to get at its bed, which was considered the richest soil. At one place a company of eighty men had banded together for the purpose of cutting a fresh channel for the river--a proceeding which afterwards resulted in a fierce and fatal affray with the men who worked below them. Elsewhere on the sides of the mountains and in "gulches" formed by torrents, men toiled singly and in twos or threes, with picks, shovels, washing-pans, and cradles. All were very busy, but all were not equally hopeful, for, while some had been successful in finding the precious metal, others had failed, and were very desponding.

"Have you had good fortune to-day?" asked Frank, stopping at the edge of the hole in which the miner with the red shirt toiled.

"Not very good," replied the man, whose voice betokened him an Englishman.

He was an immensely powerful, good-looking fellow, and paused in his work to reply to Frank's question with a hearty air.

"Have you to dig very deep?" inquired Frank.

"Not very," he replied; "the depth varies in different parts of the diggings. Here it is seldom necessary to go deeper than four feet. Indeed, a white rock usually lays about the depth of two feet under the soil. It is difficult to cut through, and does not pay for the trouble."

"Do you find gold on the surface?" continued Frank.

"Almost none. Being weighty, it sinks downwards through the loose earth, and settles on the rock. I see, gentlemen, that you are strangers, and, if I mistake not, Englishmen. I am a countryman, hailing from Cornwall, and, if you have no objection, will accompany you in your inspection of the diggings. My experience may be of service to you, perhaps, and I can at all events guard you from the scoundrels who make a livelihood by deceiving and cheating newcomers."

Frank thanked the Cornish miner for his kind offer, and accompanied by this new and intelligent friend, he and Joe continued their ramble.

One of the first men whom they addressed happened to be one of the sharpers referred to. He was a Yankee, and although the Yankees were by no means the _only_ scoundrels there, for there was no lack of such-- English, Scotch, Irish, German, and Chinese--they were unquestionably the "'cutest!"

This man was very busy when they approached, and appeared to be quite indifferent to them. Observing, however, that they were about to pass by, he looked up, and, wiping his brow, said, "Good-evening."

"Good-evening," said Frank, "What luck?"

"Luck enough," replied the man, "I'm tired of luck; the fact is, I have made my pile, and want to make tracks for home, but this is such a splendid claim that I can't tear myself away from it. See here."

He struck his shovel into the ground as he spoke, and lifted a quantity of earth, or "dirt," into a basin, washed it out, and displayed to the astonished gaze of the "greenhorns," as newcomers were called, a large quantity of gold-dust, with several small nuggets interspersed.

"Splendid!" exclaimed Frank.

"You'll make your fortin," said Joe Graddy.

"It's made already, I reckon," said the Yankee, with the air of a man who was overburdened with success. "The truth is, I want to get away before the rainy season comes on, and will part with this here claim for an old song. I'm half inclined to make you a present of it, but I don't quite see my way to that. However, I've no objection to hand it over for, say a hundred dollars."

"H'm!" ejaculated the Cornish man, "will you take a shovelful from the _other_ end of the claim and wash it out?"

The Yankee smiled, put his finger on the side of his nose, and, wishing them success in whatever line of life they chose to undertake, went on with his work.

The Cornish miner laughed, and, as he walked away, explained to his astonished companions that this was a common dodge.

"The rascals," he said, "hide a little gold in a claim that is valueless, and, digging it up as you have seen, wash it out in the presence of newcomers, in the hope of taking them in. But here we come to a party who will show you a little of legitimate gold-washing."

They approached, as he spoke, a bend of the river where several men were busy at work--some with pick and shovel, some with the cradle, and others with tin washing-pans. Here they stood for some time watching the process of gold-washing.

At the time of which we write, only the two simple processes of washing, with the pan and with the cradle, were practised at Bigbear Gully, the more elaborate methods of crushing quartz, etcetera, not having been introduced.

The most simple of these was the _pan_ process, which was much in favour, because the soil, or "dirt" was so rich in gold-dust that it "paid" well, and it only required that the miner should possess a pick, a shovel, and a tin pan. With this very limited stock in trade he could begin without delay, and earn at least a subsistence; perhaps even make "his pile," or, in other words, his fortune.

One of the men connected with the party above referred to was engaged in pan-washing. He stood in a hole four feet deep, and had just filled a flat tin dish with dirt, as Frank and his companions stopped to observe him. Pouring water on the dirt, the miner set the pan down, dipped both hands into it and stirred the contents about until they became liquid mud--removing the stones in the process, and operating in such a manner that he caused some of the contents to escape, or spill, off the top at each revolution. More water was added from time to time, and the process continued until all the earthy matter was washed away, and nothing but a kind of black sand, which contained the gold, left at the bottom. The separation of the metal from the black sand was an after process, and a more difficult one. It was accomplished in some cases by means of a magnet which attracted the sand. In other cases this was blown carefully off from a sheet of paper, but a few of the miners, who managed matters in a more extensive and thorough manner, effected the separation by means of quicksilver. They mixed it with the sand, added a little water, and stirred it about until the gold amalgamated with the quicksilver, converting it into a little massive, tangible, and soft heap. It was then put into a buckskin cloth, through the pores of which the quicksilver was squeezed, leaving the pure gold behind. Any trifling quantity of the former that might still remain was afterwards evaporated on a heated shovel or pan.

An expert worker in average ground could gather and wash a panful of dirt every ten minutes. There were few places in Bigbear Gully that would not yield two shillings' worth of gold to the panful, so that in those early days, while the surface soil was still fresh, a man could, by steady work alone--without incidental nuggets--work out gold-dust to the value of between five and six pounds sterling a day, while, occasionally, he came upon a lump, or nugget, equal, perhaps, to what he could procure by the labour of a week or more.

Many, however, of the more energetic miners worked in companies and used cradles, by means of