The Overland Monthly/Volume 5/Twelve Days' "Absence Without Leave"
THE
Overland Monthly
DEVOTED TO
THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE COUNTRY.
Vol. 5.—SEPTEMBER, 1870.—No. 3.
TWELVE DAYS’ “ABSENCE WITHOUT LEAVE.”
DURING the winter of 1863-64, there were confined, as prisoners of war, in the somewhat famous “Libby Prison,” Richmond, Virginia, some twelve hundred Northern army-officers, of all ranks.
The sad accounts of the capture of these men, and their prison life, have been too often given to require repetition: my story relates entirely to the execution of a plan of escape, by which a party of three, afterward four, succeed- ed in gaining their liberty.
In the middle of one of the long nights in January, while wrapped in my blanket, soundly sleeping on the floor, I was sud- denly aroused by the hoarse call of “ Major,” accompanied by the pressure of a hand upon my arm.
Awakened in an instant, I struggled into a sitting posture, to recognize the Hibernian accent of my whole - hearted, impulsive Irish friend, Tom Huggins, Lieutenant 82d New York Volunteers.
He spoke in whispers, as he undoubt- edly thought, but to those great lungs a whisper was a kind of roar, and I could
feel that my companions on either side were fully awake to this extraordinary proceeding, although hearing in unim- posed confidence.
The conversation was carried on most- ly by my friend of the Green Isle, in a rich brogue, which rendered the disclos- ure irresistibly droll.
“‘Major,” said he, “there is the big- gest kind of a lay going on down below.”
Tom had been, in peaceful times, a New York City policeman, and his for- mer calling was often indicated in his speech.
“Well, what is it?”
“It’s a secret; you mustn’t tell.”
“Well, I won’t tell.”
“They are digging a tunnel across the yard, and it’s half through. I’ve been down in it, and we'll all be out of this in a week.”
Feeling the importance of shutting the ready mouth of my friend, who, while obeying the impulse of his kind heart, would have ruined the whole plan by his imprudence, (if there were any truth in it) I told him we would talk the mat-
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by Jonn H. Carmany, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of California. ter over in the morning; and turned over to finish my interrupted nap.
The morning found Tom still excited and confident about the tunnel, although perfectly sober, with a suspicion of headache about him. He also informed Wallace Randolph, Lieutenant 5th United States Artillery, who, on being told that I was in the secret, came to me, and together we formed a plan for escape, when once through the tunnel.
We, of course, volunteered to assist in digging, which was being conducted with the utmost secrecy, and entirely unknown to all but about thirty officers; but our offer was declined, inasmuch as the work was so arranged, between fourteen of them, that it could be conducted without fear of observation from their neighbors, while our absence, at night, from our places on the floor, would soon excite remark, and lead to discovery. There was every reason for believing that there were spies in our midst, only recognized by us as brother officers, as other plans of escape had been discovered by our jailers, by means unaccountable to us: hence the necessity of great 'caution.
The plan proposed by Randolph and myself was to cross the canal running between the prison and James River, seize one of the abandoned skiffs to be seen lying on the beach, cross the river, strike across the country until we reached the river again below Drury's Bluff, seize another boat—or construct a raft, if no boat could be stolen—and float down, under cover of the darkness, to the picket-boats of our navy, which we knew were stationed not many miles below City Point.
About a week before the attempt was made, Colonel Tilden, 16th Maine Volunteers, communicated to us that he also meant to try the tunnel, and would like to accompany us.
Thus our party was formed, and we made our arrangements for the peri lous business upon which we had entered.
Of clothing we had enough, thanks to kind friends at home, and the Sanitary and Christian Commissions of our army, who had promptly sent to us every thing we needed in that line, in response to our calls.
And in what did this outfit consist, which—to men who for months had been accustomed to exaggerating a double ration of corn-bread into a feast, and an extra fragment of filthy blanket into a luxurious couch—was all-sufficient for our great undertaking? Each man had an entire suit of clothes, a double suit of under-clothes, the pair of boots in which he stood on entering the prison, an overcoat, and a cap. In common, we possessed a coil of rope, a diminutive hatchet, one pint of brandy, halfpint of extract of Jamaica ginger, two days' scant rations of dried meats and hard bread, one pipe, and a bit of tobacco. Thus the plan was made, and each party of two, three, or more, probably made preparations as we did, but all in silence. No one asked his friend, or companion of the mess, "Are you one?" for the secret was as sacred and inviolate as the oath to our country.
When all was prepared, we had but to wait the announcement of the completion of the tunnel. Our friend Tom kept us well informed of the progress of the work, while his hearty confidence and enthusiasm, accompanied by significant winks and growls, served to keep doubt and misgiving in the background. He was to be included among the originators of the scheme, who were to take the first chance of escape.
For a description of the tunnel, I copy from Colonel Carada's interesting book, called "Libby Life "—written in the form of a journal, and describing, with perfect truth and clearness, the important incidents of our prison life:
"Early in January, Colonel Rose or ganized a working-party of fourteen offi* cers, who were to relieve each other regularly in the work, one always remaining on guard near the excavation, to prevent a trap being set for the capture of the remainder of the party, in ¢ase of discovery by the prison officials. Having succeeded in lifting out the bottom of the fire-place, in the cook-room, they removed the bricks from the back of the flue, and penetrated between the floor-joists into the cellar, under the end room, used as a hospital. Passing through this aperture, they could with facility lower each other into the cellar. An opening was commenced in the wall, near the north-east corner of the cellar. This opening was about two feet by 2ighteen inches. It was found necessary to cut through the piles by which the building was supported; and this tedious labor was at length successfully completed, with no other tools than pocketknives. As they penetrated into the earth, great difficulty was experienced on account of the candles, which refused to burn in the close air of the tunnel. One of the party was compelled to stand constantly at the opening, fanning air into it with his hat."
The tunnel was about fifty-three feet long, and so small in diameter that, in order to pass through, it was necessary 0 lie flat on one's face, propelling with ye hand and the feet, the other hand eing thrown over the back, to diminish he breadth of the shoulders, and carry, vith greater facility, overcoat, rations, etc.
Early in the evening of the gth of *"ebruary, as I was seated at the cardible, deeply interested in the mysteries nd uncertainties of short whist, Ranolph tapped me on the shoulder. "The ork is finished," he said; "the first arty went through soon after dark; aere's no time to lose;" and the hand t whist remains yet to be played.
Every one knew it then! We posiessed only the advantage of being per fectly cool, and having a plan agreed upon. The excitement in the prison was of the wildest kind. Parties were formed, plans arranged, farewells exchanged, all in less time than one can describe.
After bidding numerous enthusiasts, who hadn't the faintest idea what we were about, "good-by," and "Godspeed," we at last reached the kitchen. Affairs there did not look very propitious for us. At the least calculation, two hundred and fifty men were crowded together in the lower end of the room, each waiting his chance to descend into the cellar.
The Rebel sentinels were pacing up and down within a few yards of this narrow door of our deliverance, and had but to look through the unglazed windows to see it all: conversation was, therefore, carried on in whispers, and we were in total darkness. Here an unexpected incident occurred, which, while it for the moment appeared to blast every hope of escape, proved in the end to be our greatest help. A stampede took place. Some timid gentleman, becoming nervous, or perhaps frightened, succeeded in communicating in an instant his alarm to the whole body, and a simultaneous rush, with indescribable din, for the other end of the room and the stairs leading to the sleeping-rooms above, was the consequence.
Knocked downand separated, we three found ourselves at the lower end of the now almost deserted room. We listened. No sound of approaching guard. Perhaps no discovery had yet been made, and one of the party crept down to the window, just in time to hear a sentinel speak the memorable words, "I reckon somebody's coffee-pot's upset."
All was safe yet, for so accustomed had the guard become to our usual riotous proceedings, that even the noise of the stampede failed to awaken susp cions. Then was our time; and we ir
proved it by dropping one by one into the cellar.
I remember well the instructions: "Feet first; back to the wall; get down on your knees; make a half-face to the right, and grasp the spike in the wall below with your right hand; lower yourself down; feel for the knotted rope below with your legs;" and one had but to drop in the loose straw shaken from hospital beds to be in the cellar.
To walk across that foul pit in the dark was no easy matter; but it was soon accomplished, and together we crouched at the entrance of the tunnel, waiting our turn. Only one at a time; and as about three minutes were consumed in effecting the passage, progress was quite slow.
Of our party, Randolph was the first to enter. "I'm going. Wait till I get through before you start," said he to me; and in he went.
It seemed that his long legs would never disappear; but a parting kick in the face, as he wriggled desperately in, quite re-assured me, and I took my station at the mouth of the hole, listening to my friend's subterranean scratching, and crawling, and hard breathing as he wormed along his difficult road. In the middle he stopped, and tried to tell me that he had not got through, but was resting —being attacked by severe palpitation of the heart; but his smothered speech was jargon to me, conveying only the idea that he was still there.
A moment, and he was again in motion, not to stop until the cool blast of air drawing through the tunnel gave the welcome assurance to me that the underground passage was clear. In I went. So well did the garment of earth fit, that I doubt if there was much windage, for at moments my movements corresponded somewhat to those of a bolt forcing its way through a rifled gun. Breath
failed when about two-thirds through, and I stopped to pant.
A score or more of vigorous kicks brought me toearth's surface, where Randolph awaited my coming with sundry whispered instructions about getting out without making undue noise, and without breaking my skull against the bottom of a board-fence.
He then crept away toward the street, keeping in the shadow of a high brick wall, as the sentinels were in full view both over and through this dilapidated fence, leaving me to assist in turn and instruct the Colonel, who could now be heard thundering through the tunnel. Dirty, but jubilant, we were soon standing in the shadow of a low brick arch, outside of which a sentinel paced backward and forward, coming sometimes to within two yards of our position. Arranging a meeting on the corner of the second street below, one after the other stole out of the archway, the turning of the sentinel's back being the signal to creep noiselessly along by the housewall.
All worked well. We met, as agreed, and arm in arm, whistling and singing, turned the corner and struck out, strong and hopeful, for home and liberty.
There, in the very heart of the enemy's stronghold, knowing well that every avenue leading to it was guarded, as a nation guards its threatened Capital; fully aware that but a few hours could elapse before cavalry, aided perhaps by dogs, would be on our track; with night our only protection, the North Star our only guide, and but a very general idea of the country, we declared the affair quite a success, and talked about hot baths in Baltimore, (of which we stood sorely in need) and luxurious dinners all the way from Washington to Boston.
A few days before leaving the prison, we took into consideration another plan of getting to the liaes of our army.
Instead of crossing the James, it was proposed to keep the left bank of the river, strike into the country by a north
east course, cross two rivers, and then, by turning to the east and south, gain the York River, where we might expect to find the picket-boats of our fleet. Failing this, we could cross to the peninsula, and enter the lines of the army at Williamsburg. This last plan was adopted.
The "prison" end of the city of Richmond being quite narrow, our rapid strides soon took us across into the vacant lots and straggling lanes of the outskirts. Half-past one o'clock, and not a soul to dispute our right of way. To be sure, every cur in the country yelped and barked as we passed along, but it was evidently no signal of alarm to their owners, for they did not trouble themselves as to the cause of the noise. In the: fields, at last, north-east by the heavens, plowed land, rail-fences, ditches, and much mud by land.
We grew exceedingly bold, as if all obstacles had been conquered, but received a substantial warning at finding ourselves suddenly in the midst of some very extensive hospital-grounds, covered with the long, white buildings or wards, too well known throughout the whole country. The lesson was a good one, and we proceeded with more care afterward. An hour more, and the lights of the city had disappeared.
Every furlong that night was worth a mile the next, and a league the third: we went on, therefore, at a great pace. Suddenly there appeared, but a few rods in advance, and walking toward us, two men! Running was out of the question. Force must be met by cunning, for Nature's weapons were all we possessed. But when on the point of meeting, one of them broke for the woods, flying through the brambles like a madman. The other one met us, and, as he passed, one of the party recognized the huge mustache and flowing locks of C——, the Connecticut Captain.
On hearing his name called, he stopped,
and mutual recognition followed. His companion, deaf to the repeated assurance that we were friends, continued to pursue his solitary journey through the underbrush, until the faint sound of his struggles made further effort on our part quite useless. It then appeared that the Captain had escaped, with a brother officer, through the tunnel, but they had lost their way, through mistaking the North Star.
After explaining the mysterious process by which the Polar Star may always be found in a clear night, we wished him good-night, and strode on. But, soon, rapid footsteps were heard behind, and, panting for want of breath, the Captain stood beside us. He could not find his companion. I do not remember that he said more; but his silence was an eloquent appeal to our sympathies. We took him into our party, remembering, with some bitterness, that each had left behind in the prison some one dear friend or companion; because, in justice to each other, we dared not increase our number.
Daylight came on so rapidly as to almost surprise us in the open country, and we hastily sought a hiding- place. Forcing our way into a thicket, we threw ourselves upon the ground, and were soon asleep; but only to wake again in a few moments, shaking with the cold. One swallow of brandy was here served to each man.
The rising sun looked in upon a miserable, shivering group of men, huddled closely together for such warmth as each one could spare his neighbor; but the blessed day had come at last, and we could make a fire.
Such a /ittle fire it was—hardly more than a spark, with dry boughs and twigs enough at our feet for a barbecue—but we feared to use fuel too freely; and, grateful even for a little, crouched over the tiny flame, blackening our faces and hands with the smoke, which we gladly
welcomed, for the sake of the additional heat it gave. The dayended. We had seen but one man, (a Negro) and he at a great distance; had heard but very distant sounds of wagoners and laborers at their work; the night had closed in again: we were still free, strong, and hopeful. Emerging from the woods, the march was resumed on our north-east course.
When but fairly clear of the woods, there arose before our eyes, all horrible in the gloom, a line of earth-works. In the fancied security of our thicket, we had been lounging within pistol - shot of the fortifications of the city.
Turning back was absurd; to the right or left, equally so, as the forts and riflepits were of interminable extent; while to go on seemed madness: but we went on, trusting that Fortune would be kind. No click of musket-lock—no challenge of sentinel —and we gained the parapet, to find the works deserted and silent as the grave. Before us now stretched the open country, cleared, evidently, for military purposes; for, even in our haste, we could but admire the selection of ground for a defensive line, and congratulate ourselves that we had as yet been spared the unpleasant duty of assaulting works of such character.
In the distance, a belt of woods, but dimly seen, indicated the line of the Chickahominy River.
As it was deemed of the highest importance to place this stream between ourselves and our pursuers, we made all speed for the bank, giving a suspicious picket-fire a wide berth. Surely, it was a wild place. Countless freshets had left unsightly scars upon the face of Nature there. Parasites, like long beards, swung wildly from the bare and blasted branches of the trees. Vegetation seemed to be killed forever; and in its place was the slime of the river, clinging to the steep banks and decaying logs, rendering our footing any thing but
sure. Add to this the weird light of a waning moon—the screeching of owls —the haunting memories of the army's disastrous campaign, a year or more before, upon the banks of the same river— bridging, fording, swimming it, in triumph and in defeat—our laudable desire to cross the black, sluggish water —and, worse than all, not even the ghost of a bridge —and some idea may be formed of our situation and condition of mind.
Matters were certainly not in the most hopeful state. This river, which had almost cost the nation an army, seemed now about to bring to naught the halfexecuted plans of a small party of four, when a subdued shout from the Captain announced a discovery of some kind.
Forgive me, O Captain! if in this short story you find recorded some of your failings. We took you in the night, under protest, and we kept you twelve long nights and longer days on the same terms. If we used you as a common safety-valve, through which all our wrath and disappointment were expended, you certainly took our ill-nature as a matter of course, and gained your liberty in consequence; and the service you rendered in the Chickahominy swamp shall never be forgotten.
Ferreting about on the bank of the stream, the Captain had found a bridge. Not wonderful for its architectural design; but a bridge that could bear us bravely and dry-shod over the current. It was a tree of mighty size, so felled, by some skilled hand, as to span the river. Once across, we plunged into the swamp beyond, to encounter new obstructions and trials—this time not actually discouraging, but decidedly painful. Fortunately, the footing was quite firm and dry, on account of both low water and cold weather; but the briers! the briers! they scratched our faces, lacerated our hands, and tore our clothes. When, breathless, stinging, but triumphant, the party gained the higher land, all report
ed more or less damage to person and property; and the Major, who had entered the swamp clad in the dignified and respectable uniform of his rank in the infantry arm of the service, emerged transformed into a variety of Zouave. The outer covering of his legs had been partially removed, revealing a large extent of under-garment which was in color a brilliant red.
The strength of the party had been wonderful, but at this point utterly failed. Miserably cold and more than miserably weary, hope began to ooze away; not so much in despair, as in indifference. Crawling into a hay-cock for a little rest, we found that rest meant sleep.
Could this be the long, sweet sleep, out of which we should wake across another river, not bridged by mortal armies, when summoned for the final muster and inspection? If this were dying, why struggle to again enter the ranks of the living, when the bitter agony had passed, and the bright gates were opening?
At this quite serious juncture, the Colonel bravely ordered a forward movement. It saved us—although executed in a rather straggling and unmilitary style.
Staggering, not walking; dreaming, more than thinking, and decidedly more asleep than awake, we reached the forest. Randolph here ordered a halt, and insisted that we must have a fire, or he should freeze. He was, perhaps, the only man of us who dared suggest an idea so entirely at variance with the prescribed manner of making night-marches in an enemy's country; but it was his turn, in that eventful night, to save the expedition from disaster; and the fire was made—no one dissenting.
As the flames leaped in the still, cold air, a deep slumber fell upon the four overtasked mortals. The morning's sun aroused us to the knowledge that we were not much worse for the hard usage
—a little stiff, and very hungry, without much provisions left.
A council was called, the map produced, and the concentrated strength of four minds brought to bear on "the situation." A distant reveille suggested Mechanicsville: to our left and rear, a road near by guided us still farther, while for the rest we had merely a knowledge of our course, and an estimate of distance traveled.
Putting all these together, a decision was made that we were in a certain position, shown on the map. Now for proof, food, and assistance generally: for the first, we desired to form the acquaintance of some contraband; for the second, the same individual would do; and as for the third, we well knew that a whole race of the same complexion and s¢atus were at our service, and anxious to aid us. Randolph sprang to his feet at the adjournment of the meeting, as he was to play the part of scout and, if necessary, Virginian. Having provided himself, before leaving the prison, with a suit of citizen's clothes, and having studied with much assiduity for some weeks the peculiar dialect, or Aatozs, of the Southerner, he was desirous of a little practice. Before many minutes had elapsed he was back again, having with him the desired individual, and who, hat in hand, stood waiting our pleasure.
To the first question— 'Where are we?"'—his answer was most satisfactory, proving our calculation to have been correct.
To be brief: the good fellow brought us food, told us that we might travel in safety on the direct road for ten miles before reaching a picket-post or guard, and would gladly have gone with us to the land of freedom, but the thought of his wife and children, and the threat that they should be sold into a worse slavery than they now suffered should he run away, held him more firmly than the fear of death or punishment to himself.
That night, with light hearts, we started, bowled off the ten miles very quickly, and, by the execution of a brilliant flank movement, avoided the picket-post. As the eastern sky grew gray, we sought a hiding-place. Finding an empty barn we crept into its loft, and were soon fast asleep.
At sunrise, Randolph (the citizen) sallied forth to reconnoitre. He captured a contraband, who, without a word or a question, hustled us out of our loft, leading the way in great haste to the "quarters" occupied by the slaves.
The reason for this maneuvre was that our secure hiding-place was within "a biscuit-toss"' of the plantation mansion, whose hospitable doors were always open to the troopers and scouts of the enemy. We found ourselves, after this change, in the cock-loft of a slave's log hut: probably our first experience in such a habitation, and certainly the first time we had been the guests of any of the humble race, two fine specimens of which were now our host and _ hostess. The man, evidently a field- hand, was young, active, and intelligent. Not being bewildered by army correspondents, or driven into a maze of doubts by political discussions, he had a very clear idea of the character of the war and its probable results, and looked forward to the approaching day of his freedom with a confidence quite refreshing. The woman—his grandmother, probably—was still hale and strong. She was high authority for all that came under her roof; and many were curious enough to see the "live Yankee." They all paid the old "auntie" the greatest respect, and many of the young had good cause to retire, disconcerted by her sharp reproof or biting wit. She was the mother of twenty children, (she said) and they (her masters) had taken them all from her — not one left, in her old age. When, at
night, we were taking our leave, some one gave the old woman one or two col
ored silk handkerchiefs, such as soldiers usually possess, and with which we were well supplied. The trifling gift recalled the memory of better days, and we received an additional blessing. Again the moon lighted us on our journey, but the air was much milder than we had before experienced.
In crossing a lane, two horsemen came upon us so suddenly that we could only throw ourselves upon the ground by way of concealment. One of these troopers, evidently in a happy mood, was softly singing a very familiar college song— one that should always be sung by many voices —although, it is needless to say, we were not disposed to join on this occasion. When just abreast of us, his voice faltered. "'O, stay!' the maiden—{it almost died away ]—said, 'and— [the horse's pace was now checked to a walk]—rest.'"
No one dared to look, but each felt instinctively that the dreaded discovery had been made, and nerved himself for the moment when the shout to his comrade, and the rattle of the ready carbines, would call us to test our courage in a life-and-death encounter.
But whatever the nature of his discovery he kept it to himself, and, urging his horse forward, resumed the disjointed verse, "' U-pi-dee—u-pi-dee." We listened in great glee until Longfellow's "Excelsior" grew faint in the distance.
Some hours before day the little company reached the banks of the Pamunkey River. The door of a hospitable cabin swung readily open for the reception of such as we, and, soon snugly stowed away in a loft, we slept soundly on a high pile of rags. Another long day of waiting and watching—would the night never come? When the long twilight deepened, the four started again, with a fresh guide. At the river bank, our contraband drew from under a clump of bushes a long "'dug-out," or canoe; and, by means of this method of trans portation, one by one were silently ferried across, and delivered over to the care of a middle-aged, dignified Negro, who consented to render assistance to us for the coming twenty-four hours. But he could not proceed at once, on account of an important engagement. In fact, he was in full dress to attend a grand ball, to be given on a neighboring plantation.
Yet his charge must be disposed of, in some way; and the result was, that we also went to the ball. Not that we participated in the festivities of the evening, but in the deserted mansion of the plantation, (which we occupied for the time) we were quite near enough to hear the wild shouts, and music, not to mention shuffling and dancing.
Soon after the ball broke up, and Isaac (our guide) appeared, slightly warmed with good cheer, but sober enough for all practical purposes.
We were particularly entertained by his peculiar knowledge of the stars, that to him indicated the hours of the night. "Daylight," he said, "in three hours; for that star," pointing to one as he spoke, "is in such a position."
Isaac conducted us to the plantation, of which he was part of the live - stock and property, and bolted us into his sanctum —an old shed, used at once as chicken-house, lumber-room, tool-shop, and receptacle of properties in general.
In the centre of the apartment, there was an old, air-tight stove, without a sign of a chimney-pipe, in which, to our great astonishment, our deliverer proceeded to kindle a fire. 'De smoke," he said, "would kinder go promiscus out ob de ruff, and nobody would notice it." We found the heat not uncomfortable, while through the gaping "ruff" the smoke found its way so readily that our heavy slumbers were not disturbed.
For matins, next morning, (being Sunday) we had a choral service from a dozen fowls, that had discovered us, and
were, accordingly, in great tribulation Relieved, at last, of their company, the hours passed slowly away, their monotony being broken by the opportune arrival of Isaac, with breakfast.
On corn-meal cake (underdone) and fat bacon we fared sumptuously, composing ourselves subsequently to a dyspeptic nap, by way of killingtime. Inthe afternoon, two men (White) approached the shed, and, seating themselves at one corner, held first an animated discussion as to whether the place was occupied or not.
Having decided, to our great relief, that it did not conceal any thing of the human kind, they gave us the benefit of a political wrangle, from a Southern point of view. The only notes taken were when the disputants left, at which we again drew ordinary breaths.
Down dropped the night, and in came our guide, in haste to rid himself of such dangerous friends. He led the way over the open country, and brought us, at midnight, without incident of any kind, to a plantation very like the one we had just left, and conducted us, as usual, to the "quarters." Ephraim— the foreman of the place—became our host, and we entered his modest cabin. He was quite a character in his way —very black, very neat, very oracular, and very pious. Although quite a young man, he was a widower, and lived alone. When he was at home, the bolt of his door was invariably drawn back, for (he proudly said) no one would dare enter without asking permission—not even the overseer himself.
We did not doubt his word, but preferred having the door at least—closed.
In the morning, after many solemn injunctions against making undue noise, kindling smoky fires, etc., Eph. left us for the field, having made an arrangement with an old "auntie" for supplying us with dinner. At noon-time, a very nervous rattling at the door (the
work of trembling fingers) apprised us of an interruption of our solitude, when the door flew open to admit the old woman, who, basket in hand, came in upon us like a thunderbolt.
She was a rare old specimen of her race, active yet, although her years must have been many.
What with joy, solicitude, anxiety, hope, and fear, her feelings were almost too much for her, and Eph.'s cabin too small, by far, for a proper physical demonstration of her emotions.
For fear that our fire would attract notice from without, on account of the smoke it made, down she tumbled before it, to extinguish the blaze with her apron and hands; and then,-"r fear that we should be cold, the san. willing hands excited among the dry .ticks such a flame as we had never thought of.
During the discussion of the inevitable bacon and hoe-cake she kept moderately quiet, giving expression to her feelings only in slight moans, but evidently relishing every mouthful that we took. The feast over, she gathered together the fragments, and, though her mission had been fulfilled, still lingered, her object in so doing not being apparent to us.
Slowly surveying the group, she singled out one, as a proper subject for her last demonstration. The Major, being small, was of the most convenient size for her purpose, while his after-dinner attitude, (stretched at full length upon Eph.'s couch of miscellaneous rags) put him at a hopeless disadvantage. Witha little scream of affection, "auntie" pounced on the unsuspecting Major, clasped him in her long and not over-plump arms, and gave him a hug, which he yet feels in memory, saying, by way of parting salute:
"Lord bress you, children! Oh! my good Lord! my soul loves every one of you." The powerless and astonished
Major fell back witha bump; once more
the door rattled, and our good friend was gone.
Eph. returned early in the day, ostensibly to mend his chimney, actually to keep an eye on us, and to ward off any danger that might threaten.
At night we were on the march, in a blinding snow-storm, still strong and hopeful.
In the Pamunkey River is an island, inhabited by a small tribe of Indians, said to be descendants of Pocahontas. Independent, both in politics and religion, these few people have lived, for many years as a little nation by themselves—having no voice in the rule of the land, paying tax to neither State nor country, peaceable and prosperous. Their chiefs and leaders were shrewd enough, (or perhaps loyal) at the beginning of the war, to understand thoroughly the inevitable consequence of such a struggle, and, while they took no active part as a people, readily gave their sympathies, and, in individual cases, their valuable aid, to the cause of the North. The slaves, therefore, had no hesitation in conducting to Indian-town fugitives from Southern military prisons.
At midnight, the guide knocked at the door of a neat little house, and, without much delay, we stood upon the hearth of one of the chiefs of the tribe. If we did not expect to see scalps and antlers decorating the walls, we were a little disappointed at finding this "noble Redskin" very like other mortals in appearance. He gave us a welcome, more in acts than words, bade us make ourselves comfortable, and left us, without cereniony, to find a hiding-place in which we should be more secure than under his roof.
He returned in about an hour, and led the way to a remote corner of the island, where, in a field, a corn-shuck rick offered a shelter not to be despised on such a night.
We were then left to ourselves, with
the promise that food would be brought us in the morning.
After the snow, there came from the north-west a cold blast, which, for two days, kept us fast in our place of concealment, as the combined forces of wind and frost interfered sadly with the plan we had agreed upon.
It had been deemed advisable to proceed from this point by water; and an agreement had been made for us by the chief, with two contrabands, whereby we should be taken down the river, in the night, by means of an oyster - boat. This boat ran the gauntlet of Northern gun-boats once every week, her venturesome pilots finding a ready sale for the shell-fish thus captured, in the somewhat scantily supplied market of Richmond. But the fierce wind had driven so much water to the sea, that our boat was high and dry on the flats, and the nipping frost had congealed all the water there was left.
It was the coldest weather ot the winter, both north and south, as we found out when water in a bottle, placed one night in a haversack under the Colonel's head, was in the morning frozen solid— yet we escaped being frost-bitten.
The unlucky Major, while thawing out before a fire, the next night, (the party having been invited into an airy shed, that they might not perish) fell asleep, and was aroused from a dream of delicious warmth and happiness, by being dragged out of the fire, minus a coattail, which had been burned to a crisp.
The third night brought milder weather, which so encouraged the oystermen that with the help of the enemy's pickets, (who levied toll on the returning cargoes) the boat (an old-fashioned ship's long-boat) was successfully launched, and brought quite near the place of our concealment. At nine o'clock P.M. we were safely on board, assisting, with nervous energy, in the task of forcing the boat through the ice.
Below, on the river, some thirty miles away, was a neck of land called West Point, and we hoped by desperate exertions to get past this last picket-post, and well into the York River before light; but not a breath of air came to our assistance, and the broad day found us some distance above the Point.
We could no longer row, for fear of discovery, but curled ourselves in the bottom of the boat, while the now thoroughly frightened Negroes pulled away. The very idea of being caught in the act of helping runaway Yankees could not have caused very pleasant thoughts, as it was clearly a matter of life and death with them. But the sentinel allowed the boat to pass without even a hail; and, after being cramped in any thing but natural positions for above two hours, we peered cautiously over the gunwale to find that we might again venture to appear in public. A light breeze springing up, a rag of a sail was set, which helped wonderfully.
At nightfall we tried to effect a landing on the right bank of the river, but were prevented by the ice, which had been driven by the wind to that shore. The only alternative was to throw ourselves upon the hospitality of a free Negro, (a friend of our guides) who lived on the opposite bank. Late at night we landed, and found a resting-place in the one room of a small frame-house.
Too tired to examine closely into the details of our friend's housekeeping, we threw ourselves on the floor, in a semicircle, about the fire, until the active stirring of the family roused us to the consciousness of a new day. We then discovered that this one small room had sheltered, in addition to our own party, our host and his wife, three or four children, a young woman, (the wife's sister) a dog, two chickens, and a pet pig.
We received the gratifying intelligence that the entire country was overrun with the enemy's cavalry with the composure acquired by long habit, and proceeded to pass the day in a loft with the usual dreary silence.
The night, which was to be the last of our wanderings, was mild and still. A light mist, token of the coming spring, gave us a feeling of additional security. We could almost believe that this was the "beginning of the end."
After taking leave of the faithful oystermen, to whom we gave a watch for the valuable service they had rendered, (we were parting with our dearest possessions now) we placed ourselves in the keeping of our new friend, who was to pilot us across and still farther down the river in his own boat, and put us ashore within a few miles of the town of Williamsburg (the outpost of our army). The fine, light yawl was amply supplied with oars, and, being well manned, made good speed.
In the stillness of the night we could hear the sound of the paddle-wheels of our steam fleet beating the water, eighteen miles distant, and proposed rowing directly to Yorktown, but yielded to the entreaties of our guide, who feared getting into difficulties should it be known that he favored either side.
Just before midnight, after a slight encounter with a belt of thin ice, we landed on a long pier, about which deserted barracks and warehouses indicated that the place had been used by the enemy as a dépôt of supplies during the siege of Yorktown, two years before.
We rewarded our pilot with a watch and chain, the last available bits of personal-property possessions of the Captain.
This silver watch had but one hand, and the works were detached from the case, but it could still be persuaded to tick a little, if carefully manipulated. The chain purported to be of gold, but the recipient doubted this, after a liberal application to his tongue. However, it was all we had to offer, and he couldn't very well take us back; so, after a bit of grumbling—for he had undoubtedly expected a gold chronometer, at least—he left us to our fate. In a desolate village of huts, we tried in vain to raise a human being. We succeeded at last in rousing a White Man from his bed, in a house more pretentious and apart from the rest; but he was in such an agony of terror at our appearance that we could get no information from him. At a gentle insinuation that we were Southerners, he was a good, though uncommunicative Rebel; but when, in despair, we proclaimed ourselves runaway Yankees, his speech became utterly unintelligible. In his attempts at conversation, we caught the words, "Free Nigger; house at the end of the lane; knows all about it: "which was quite sufficient, for if the Blacks were not particularly warlike as a race, they were fearless in their opinions, and no one doubted ¢heir political position.
A series of double-knocks on the door of the easily found cabin roused our last guide and his barking dogs. No cause for deception here on either side:
"We are Northern officers escaped from Richmond. How can we go safely to Williamsburg?" we asked in a breath.
"Straight ahead, on de main road," said he. "When you get two mile along, you will come to a branch (creek); on de other side you will see two chimneys—dar you'll find your pickets."
"Any Rebs about here; any conscript hunters?" we asked.
"Haven't seen one for more'n two weeks," he replied.
If we had been strong throughout all, we were giants of strength now. The very face of Nature was changed in the dim, hazy light, and the air seemed laden with the perfume of Northern orchards. Even the red, clayey soil lost its stickiness in this wondrous mental atmosphere of freedom. With our long, swinging strides the distance was as nothing, and before long the "chimneys" and "branch," so accurately described, were in plain sight.
Throwing away our sticks, we descended the slight hill to the brook with cautious steps and open ranks, fearing that a timid sentinel might magnify the little band into an entire squadron of Rebel cavalry, and welcome us with a bullet.
When almost on the timbers of a partially dismantled bridge, the challenge came, ringing through the air like the blast of a bugle:
"Who comes there?"
"Friends! friends!' we screamed, rather than answered—wringing our hands, and almost dancing for joy—the thoughts of home and liberty dimming our eyes, and choking our hearts.
"Where from?" shouted the sentinel.
"Libby Prison, Richmond!" we cried.
"Come on." This last remark in a voice as excited as our own.
It was somewhat unmilitary to thus welcome strangers from the enemy's side in the middle of the night; and our worthy man of arms, remembering this, before we had time to act upon his invitation, ordered us peremptorily to "halt," and called for the "Corporal of the Guard."
From some distant guard-house a sleepy Corporal at length came, and, with the sentinel, marched slowly down to the narrow stream where, with "arms port," and ready for immediate use, he asked the questions which we constantly anticipated in our haste. When he had satisfied himself that it was all right, we were told to approach.
Disdaining the proffer of a few planks, we crossed on the bare timbers, and stood, grasping each other's hands, free at last.
Randolph had his triumph. "Didn't I tell you from the first that we should get through, when all you fellows were croaking if we get through, and when we get through?"
THE YUBA HYDRAULIC MINES.
No. II.—FROM WITHIN.
IN a previous paper, we spoke of the
external and general character of these mines. We now propose to describe more particularly their internal economy and mechanical structure. In working them, no process is more costly than that of tunneling. It is also not unfrequently the most discouraging. This is especially true of those mines that can only be prospected by means of a tunnel, as was the case with the Blue Gravel Mine.
It requires no little pluck, and business enterprise, to meet the obstacles constantly recurring; and he who gets honor by the completion of such enterprises, generally gets far less than he deserves. When the first tunnel is completed, however, it forms a demonstration of the real nature of the mine, and, consequently, of all mines belonging to the district that have similar indications. Thus it happens that, in the district we are considering, success in mining is no longer a question of chance, but simply the result of persistent effort, in the sagacious use of means. Thus it is, also, that four large tunnels are rapidly being built through the hills north of the mines. These tunnels are the property of four respective Companies, and the fact that they have been commenced, is a fair guarantee that they will be finished.
The tunnels, aforesaid, have the same relative size, grade, and manner of construction; the work being done by contract, and by men employed by the Company. The average grade of all is not far from six inches to every twelve feet, and size about six feet in height by seven feet in width. They are built, mainly, through a solid bed of coarse slate, called by the miners "blue granite," and in which seams of gypsum are not unfrequent. The rock does not prove to be equally hard, and consequently the progress of the tunnel is irregular, varying from three and a half or four feet per week, in the hardest rock, to six or seven feet in rock of a soft material. In all cases of soft rock, the tunnel must be heavily timbered, or the work will prove fruitless, from the frequent caves that take place.
When the work on the tunnels is let by contract—a method very popular in the district—it is often customary to do it by the means of sealed proposals; the party bidding what he thinks will enable him to make a fair margin of profit, and the Company frequently giving a premium for the completion of a hundred feet or more within a stated period.
In cases of contracting for tunnel-work in the district, the price ranges from $34 to $37 per foot, in hard rock; and as, in miners' language, "the rock is very uncertain," the men sometimes make a fair profit, and frequently nothing at all. With fair rock, they average $5 per day, board excluded; while men employed by the Company are paid an average of $3 per day, with board.
Each tunnel works from six to nine nen, when there is but a single opening for work, who operate in alternate "shifts," sometimes two, but oftener three men to the "shift"—each party working eight hours to a "beat" —the former number prevailing when Giant Powder is used for blasting.
When shafts are sunk at different places on the line of the tunnel, men are worked according to the number of the same; each shaft affording two faces for working at the same time.
During the construction of a tunnel, the want of pure air for the workmen is often a most serious hindrance. Hour after hour, men are forced to breathe an atmosphere, never healthful, and frequently poisonous; and many a miner can point to-day to his work in the tunnel, as the reason of a disordered system, or, what is far worse, a ruined constitution. As a means of partially obviating this difficulty, when the tunnel is commenced from the bank, a shaft is sunk at a convenient distance from its mouth, and by means of communication with it brings about a circulation of pure air. The Companies also resort to different kinds of machinery, for forcing air into the tunnels; and among the most frequent, as well as the most efficient of any, is that called "the water-blast"—a very ingenious contrivance, in which a perpendicular fall of water is the motive-power, and the air is forced through a four-inch pipe up to the place of the miners' work.
During the existence of a mine, two tunnels, at least, may have to be built, in order to reach the lower level of the mine. Nor could this be obviated by running the first tunnel a given number of feet lower. In the first place, it would make the opening of the mine too difficult; and, in the second place, it would give a very high bank, which can be worked less profitably than one of a medium height.
Flaming, or sluicing, follows tunneling.
Each flume consists of a number of boxes, more or less, according to the length of the flume, each box being about twelve feet long.
Every box is made up of the following items: Four "sides," always used in the rough except where they join; two "bottoms," smoothly planed on the upper side and at piace of jointure; two boards for capping the "sides," which are strongly nailed to the posts of -the "standards;" four "standards," made of four-by-fours, and consisting of a crosspiece for the "bdttoms," with two uprights for the "sides;" and numberless pine wedges, used in chinking, that the flume may not leak. The above items in place, and the box is fitted for the blocks and chinking.
The blocks used are made of the nutpine of the foot-hills —it being the most durable wood in the vicinity for the purpose —and are simply cross-sections of the tree, partially squared, varying in diameter and thickness; ranging from sixteen to thirty-two inches for the former, and from six to ten inches for the latter.
Each box takes about six of the thir
ty-two-inch blocks, when the flume is a wide one, and a larger number when it is a narrow one, as all boxes have about
the same length. It is evident that, when the blocks are placed in the box, as they are nearly circular, there will be many crevices unfilled. These openings are closely chinked with tunnel-rock, or broken slate bowlders. In doing the chinking, great care is taken that no block be left in a loose condition; for, were one to be left in this manner, the water would uproot the blocks, form a dam, and flood the banks; and, were it to happen in the tunnel, tear away the timbers, and endanger the lives of the miners who tend the same. The work of putting in the blocks and chinking is therefore done by men who are well fitted for it by thorough experience.
The blocks are changed three or four imes a year, as they prove durable or therwise; and are reversed in position t the times of the "clean-ups," as they
are found to wear much faster on the side toward the head of the box—the head of the box meaning the point nearest the head of the flume, or upper end of it. As the result of this frequent changigg, quite an extended block-business is supported in the surrounding country.
After being laid with blocks and chinking, every box is thoroughly lined with boards, for the purpose of keeping the blocks in their places; and, with the further addition of quicksilver, which is deposited in the crevices to absorb the gold, thereby forming amalgam, the flume is ready for use.
A flume completed throughout the tunnel, along the bed of the mine, and over the hills to the brink of the river, is a demand for water—the '"'open sesame"? to the rich treasure of this deposit; and, as there is no water in the vicinity of the mines, it becomes necessary to build ditches, from a far-distant point in the mountains which furnish the supply. These ditches are rarely the exclusive property of the men owning the mines; but are owned by Companies, formed on a stock principle. and who furnish water to the different claims, at such prices as seem most wholesome to their interests. The Yuba River, far up in the mountains, is the source of the supply; and the Excelsior Canal Company the most prominent corporation who represent the business in this district.
Large reservoirs are made at convenient distances from the mines, in places having natural advantages, and that will give sufficient current. These are sometimes wholly, and sometimes in part only, the property of the different Companies they supply, and are built principally to furnish water during the long, dry months of summer and the early fall. It often happens, however, that even this precaution fails to meet the demand, since many of the claims are forced to work on half-rations, and not a few
obliged to suspend operations, in a measure, during the hot, sultry months of September and October—a fact which can ..ardly be otherwise than discouraging, and is always detrimental.
The water is let to the different €ompanies at a certain price per inch, the general average being about fifteen cents; and, as they use from five to seven hundred inches daily, it will readily be seen that the money for water, only, is no inconsiderable item in the annual budget of expenses.
The water is not brought into the mines by the ditches, but to a point on the hillabove them. Here, a large sheetiron pipe communicates with the ditch, and carries the water on to the bed of the excavation. The pipe in question
varies in size from sixteen to twenty inches in diameter, and is laid on an airline to the centre of the mine, in order to give the strongest possible pressure.
At the centre of the excavation it discharges the water into a smaller pipe, and laid at right-angles with it. This smaller pipe again discharges the water through an apparatus, attached to either end, into the distributing pipes, for immediate usage upon the banks. The latter-named pipes are still smaller than the others, and are capped with nozzles, the mouths of which are about three inches in diameter. The nozzles are thus small, because larger ones would make the stream of water so large that it could not be thrown against the bank, and yet smaller ones would not furnish enough water for washing away the débris.
With the mines thus fitted for the workmen, we will now give a glimpse of a day's work in one of them.
Fifteen minutes to seven o'clock, and the sun looks over the eastern hills which overshadow the village. Some one says, "Fifteen minutes, boys;" and the foreman rises slowly, and steps off forthe mine. One after another follows,
until there is a file of men reaching from the boarding-house to the bank of the mine; and were it not for the clay pipes in their mouths, and their strange working dress, he could be forgiven who would sing a reguiem to their motion. The mine reached, work begins, yet the same resolute resistance to any show of interest is manifest. There is no talking, no hurrying to and fro—nothing that indicates earnest labor. The pick rises in a slow, undecided manner, and falls of its own weight; the shovel drops into the flume, and is moved along by the simple force of the water; while the drill, the bar, and the sledge dare not or care not to encroach upon the established precedence of the pick and shovel. A San Franciscan might well be discomfited were he obliged to imitate these miners for a single week. And do they work? Look into the mine, note the changes, and you will not need to repeat the question for an affirmative. True, the motion is slow, very slow, slower perhaps than you have ever seen outside of the mines; yet, with this ponderous slowness, there is a precision and a regularity of movement which are most effectual—'tis the old story of the rain-drops and the rock. The huge blocks of cement crumble to pieces under the fall of the sledge and pick; the drill drops into the slate bowlders like magic; a dozen streams of water are shooting against the rocky bank, now at the base, now at the top, now at the centre—anywhere that the hand of the water-tender sends them; the bank bows again and again under the powerful influence of the water, and the flume is gorged a hundred times with the débris that the water feeds it. With the coming of noon, the miners have made an entire change in the part of the mine they have worked, however feebly they may seem to have acted; and, as the sound of the heavy dinnerbell is borne to them, all the work is stopped abruptly, and they move with
quickened pace across the mine, up the hill, into the boarding-house, and begin to eat.
Here, only, do you discover that the miner can hurry. But a half-hour is given for the heartiest of dinners, and he knows it, feels it, shows it in the railroad method of his eating. Here only, too, does the miner's boyhood come back tohim. He eats as he ate at his father's table. He eats with delight, with conviction that he is doing the best thing he can do, and has but the shortest possible time to do it in. He becomes, in fact, an eating automaton.
Dinner over, the miner relapses into his work-time thought and movement, winds down into the mine, and repeats the operations of the forenoon: naught during the day but a blast, a dinner, or a case of emergency disturbs his imperturbable gravity.
Six o'clock, the bell rings, the tools of the miner drop abruptly, and the day's work is over.
Saturday is a counterpart of Monday in the nature and manner of the miner's work, and the last day of the month is a faithful photograph of the first. A "clean-up" only brings a change to him, which occurs about once in six weeks, and invariably tickles his fancy, whether its coming be in the balmy May or gloomy February, as he is then paid for his labor.
By a "clean-up" in one of these hydraulic mines is meant the work of taking the gold from the sluices, or rather the amalgam and quicksilver, and the processes of retorting and smelting.
The "clean-up" proper might, perhaps, include nothing but the removal of the amalgam from the sluices, but as the miners generally add the two latter processes, we shall also include them.
The first work to be done is to clear the sluices of the blocks and stones, and is done by separate parties of miners, who have a given Civision of the sluice
assigned them; the simple clearing of the flumes in this manner taking from one and a half to two days, or longer, if the "clean-up" be a large one. This done, a number of riffles are placed at irregular intervals in the bottom of the flume —a riffle being a small, strong board, about ten inches wide, placed across the bottom of the flume to intercept the amalgam, quicksilver, and general débris. A few inches of water are now run into the flume, and a miner enters the head of a section, as formed by the given riffles, carefully sweeping its contents to the lower riffle of the section with a common broom. Immediately below the lower riffle, another man is stationed, who, with a heavy four or sixtined fork, removes the dédris that is stopped by it, and which consists principally of pins, rusted nails, pieces of old iron, wood, and cobble-stones. This process thoroughly completed, the next step is the removal of the amalgam, quicksilver, and remaining débris into the pails on the bank of the flume, and is done with a small, iron hand-shovel. Here also is a large wooden tub filled with water, used in further freeing the amalgam from refuse matter. A small portion of the amalgam is then put into a pan closely resembling a common milkpan, but differing from it in being made of iron, and with sides somewhat more flaring. The loose quicksilver is turned from it into the flasks near by, and the miner carefully washes it in the water of the tub, picking out with-his fingers the iron pyrites and other débris—a process which is the only vestige we have of the old pan system everywhere common in the primitive history of California mining.
After a thorough washing in this manner, which effectually frees it from the coarser débris, it is taken to the place of retorting. Here it undergoes a second operation of cleaning. It is washed again, and then carefully passed betweer
the thumb and fingers of either hand; the pressure detecting any foreign substance. Every substance of this kind is closely examined before being placed with the lesser dééris, the test employed being that of biting the article, and the miner usually telling instantly whether or not it be gold. Sometimes, however, he is cheated or unable to determine, and the dééris of this second cleaning is kept for a still more complicated process.
Many very curious incrustations are common to the lesser débris, as dimes, quarters, and half-dollars that have lost all semblance of their moneyed relationship; pins and needles, buttons and buckles, of all sizes and shapes; shot, bullets, tacks, shingle-nails—a conglomerate, indeed, of such queer substances that a chemist alone can classify them.
Retorting—or the process to which the amalgam is next subjected, is that operation by which the quicksilver is separated from the gold by the application of heat to the amalgam, the heat being sufficiently powerful to vaporize the quicksilver.
The retort for this purpose is usually made of brick, having a small chamber and a fire-place under the same. In the centre of this chamber, a half-cylinder is placed in a horizontal position, running lengthwise of the chamber, made of iron, having a smooth inner surface, about four feet in length by three feet in diameter. Corresponding to this is an upper half, which serves as a cover after the amalgam has been placed in the lower one. A pipe from this passes through the wall of the retort to a condenser outside of it which receives the vapor—the condenser further communicating with an outside vessel fitted for the reception of the quicksilver.
The amalgam is now placed in a number of small half-cylinders about ten inches in length, each having a central partition running lengthwise of it, and
all closely fitting into the lower halfcylinder of the chamber. With these cylinders in place, the cover securely fastened, and a fire built in the furnace below, retorting commences.
Great care is taken that the heat applied to the amalgam be regular, also of a low degree: otherwise there is danger of an explosion, usually destructive, and sometimes fatal in its results. A case in question is duly recorded in the annals of the Blue Gravel; but, further than opening the wall of the retort in several places, and routing the men from the room by the escaping vapor, it did no serious damage. This process generally takes about eight hours, and is one of the most disagreeable in the whole range of mining. No matter how great the precaution taken, some of the vapor escapes, and is breathed in by the workmen. Thus it is that salivation often occurs. Men are troubled, too, with throat or lung difficulties for weeks after the operation, and diseases may be contracted of mercurial origin, and therefore almost incurable.
When retorted, the gold is in small, porous loaves of a dull, metallic lustre, and very firmly cohesive—so much so that it can only be fitted for "smelting" by means of a cold-chisel, which, under the stroke of a heavy hammer, breaks and cuts it in pieces.
For the purpose of smelting, a furnace is sometimes arranged with two compartments, as is the case in the Blue Gravel Mine. This furnace is built of brick, with two cavities about eighteen inches in diameter by the same in depth, being separated from each other by a strong brick partition, and are circular in form, to give a more even heat, which is obtained from a coke-fire built in the bottom of the furnace.
The broken loaves are then placed in crucibles about ten inches in height and five inches in diameter, having the form of a common bowl, and made of black
sand. After being filled, borax is added, as the crevices permit, which frees the gold from impurities, and the crucibles are placed on the hot coke-fires of the furnaces.. Additions of gold and borax are made to that in the crucibles at different times, until the smelter is satisfied that the bar will be of the usual size. Each crucible is also skimmed several times with a small, coiled wire that takes up the refuse matter which may rise to the top of the melted gold. Ap hour fits the gold for the mold, and nothing can be more beautiful than its appearance at this time. The color is not unlike that of a burning gas-jet, but it has a brilliancy far surpassing it. One who has seen it at this period need not wonder at the rise of that old Alchemy whose birth, and life, and death it proved to be. Poured into the mold, itinstantly changes to a dull, lustreless color, covered with black specks, and full of ugly little holes that mar its beauty and injure its sale. With the gold in bars, which have an average weight of 250 ounces, with a valuation of $19 per ounce, the "cleanup" is completed; and we notice, as the next and last important features of the mines, those of drifting and blasting. By "drifting" is meant the work of running the small tunnels into the face of the bank. These are of different lengths, according to the amount of dirt intended to be loosened, and have a uniform size of four feet in height by three in width. Work is continued upon them day and night during all the week, except Sunday—one man working at a time, and he in a disagreeable manner, as he can have choice of but two positions: one, a seat on an empty powderkeg, and the other, on his knees. He generally takes both by way of variety. When he has loosened a few wheelbarrows of dirt, he finds a temporary relief in wheeling the dirt out of the drift. After running a given number of feet, the main drift is capped by a short
er one, running at right-angles with it. When this is completed, the drift is ready for loading. This is generally done by the foreman of the claim, assisted by one or twoofthemen. The powder is brought in kegs from the powderhouse, on a rack made for the purpose, which is thoroughly lined with zinc, to prevent the lodgment of grains of powder in the wood, thereby causing explosion. The rack will contain from six to eight kegs, and is carried to the drift by two men. About fifty kegs are used, to load a common-sized drift, or twelve hundred and fifty pounds. The powder is deposited keg by keg in the given drift, in a horizontal position, until the cap-drift, and a few feet of the main one, are filled. A keg is then opened, and the end of a quarter-inch fuse imbedded in the powder. This fuse is inclosed in boxes, six or eight feet in length, which serve to protect it, while the men are tamping. The fuse being thus inclosed, tampingcommences. Thedirtthat came from the drift was first carefully packed around the boxes that protect the fuse, and then throughout the drift. Tamping finished, the fuse is lighted at leisure, and the blast goes off.
In most instances, a blast is successful, but occasionally one will blow out, leveling every thing that may stand in its way. A case of this kind happened in the Blue Gravel Mine, a few years since, ruining all of the buildings in the mine.
The largest blast ever put off in this mining district, was fired in the Randlin Claim sometime in May, of 1869. It consisted of 1,500 kegs of powder, or 37,500 pounds, and was the chief topic of interest in the village for months before the occurrence. All manner of predictions could be heard in relation to it, the most opposite and the most improbable: it must blow outs it could not upheave such an amount of dirt as it must loosen in order to be successful. The blast in question lay at the foot of
a mountain-ridge which formed the eastern boundary of the village. It had a fine command of the whole prospect; and if mischief were in it, there was no reason why it shouldn't show itself. So it grew into a fact, with some, that a day of disaster was not far distant. But the morning of the fatal day came. It was cloudy and hot, almost murky. The goats on the mountain-side were quietly standing about in the bunches of chafarral; the quails in the ravines below forgot to whistle; all the trees on the hill-side were motionless and noiseless, and nothing broke the silence but the sound of blasts in distant claims, or the hurried exclamations of the villagers, who awaited the calamity —some, with eager, fearful interest, but more, perhaps, with that dare-devil and care-fornothing spirit, which so often comes to us in the time of impending danger.
Eight o'clock A.M., and a messenger is sent through the village, who states that the blast will be fired at eleven a.m. An hour later, and the time is extended to twelve M. At eleven, suspense begins to deepen. Those living near the blast find places of safety in the farther end of the village, or on the side of the mountain overlooking the town. The windows of the houses in Sucker Flat proper are whitened with human faces. They gather in groups on the side of the hill, below the store, and its large, back porch is jammed with men and boys. Wherever there is standing-room, giving a view of the mine, and thought to be reasonably safe, human forms may be seen, with eager, anxious faces, looking out to the base of the mountain. At half-past eleven, preparations commence in earnest. Three men go slowly up the hill, who seem to be fixing something along the bank. They are laying a wire from the blast to a position on the hill above it.
"A wire? and what for?" asks one. "Tis a'lectricity thing," is answered.
" And how long does it take it to burn, mon?" he asks again, little dreaming that a current of the flpid has circled the earth a half-dozen times while he asks the question.
The answer ranks the question in intelligence: "Oh! about three minutes, I guess, mon."
The wire is laid. They have reached the battery, and are now working about it. "Fifteen minutes of twelve," sings out a lusty-throated fellow, who is keeping time for us. 'Hold your hats, boys. I can feel the breath of the thing already." 'Only five minutes," he shouts again, and, with this announcement, a general commotion is manifest. One man fixes to jump from the platform; another finds his friend a much better bulwark than base; a third steps into the store, daring to take but a one-eye peep at it: and each seems to find something about his position that is spec.ally uncomfortable. 'One minute"'—a profound hush creeps over us. "Z7welve o'clock /"" The man at the battery is making a signal. *Tis answered by a shrill cry from the whistle on our left. Hardly a minute passes, when the foothill of the mountain reaches up toward the top, then settles down as swiftly, o'ertoppling large trees, engulfing old cabins, destroying every thing about it.
And the anxious audience. "Bah!" says the time-keeper; "it didn't begin to equal a three-hundred-keg, Blue-Gravel sensation." Nota hat was lost—not aman was shaken. "The biggest cheat of the diggings," is written on nearly every countenance.
The blast, however, has been most successful— never better on record. It has shown, also, the safety and economy of firing with electric currents —a method that must supersede all others, when it is more fully appreciated
This article would be quite incomplete without some reference to the amount
produced since the opening of the mines; and we may say, too, that it can only be an approximate one, based upon the amount produced by the Blue Gravel Mine from the time of its opening up to date, or May, 1870.
This mine commenced operations in 1853, and during the nine succeeding years the amount taken from it was $315,000. This was prior to and during the building of the main tunnel, and was all used for current expenses. In 1864 the tunnel was completed, and the showing becomes more favorable; for, during the forty-three months that followed, the amount was $837,000, or an average of $19,465.51 permonth. The net earnings during the same time were $627,000; the cost of operating the mine being $5,000 per month, with $61,000 used for improvements. From 1868 to 1870 and date, or about three years, the amount (given approximately) will hardly equal the former average. Taking $16,000 as the monthly product, which is probably a moderate estimate, we have $576,000. Granting this estimate, the gross product of the mine, from 1853 to 1870 and date, is $1,728,000.
The mines of Timbuctoo, a half-mile west of the Blue Gravel, have been
worked for a longer period, and, though not now equally rich, if we include one or two intervening claims, have probably produced $2,000,000. And since the opening of the Blue Gravel, which proved the richness of the leads eastward, several claims have beenstarted, and, though worked under discouraging circumstances, must have produced $260,000.
From all of which it will be seen that nearly $4,000,000 may be given as the product of the mines up to May, 1870.
Nor are the mines, as a whole, decreasing in value. The promise of the past is the promise of the future. If results ave been encouraging, they may be fabulous. There are fields above and below unoccupied. It needs, simply, that capital, energy, and practical mining experience combine, to make this second to no hydraulic region in the State. The wealth is here, and it remains to be seen whether the forces that produce it are to bless with their coming and successful working. If they come —if the four tunnels already begun are completed—if new fields are opened, as they may be—a new era shall dawn upon all of those interested. And when that era dawns, Spirit of Aladdin! who shall say what then?
OUR SCOUT TO
ALL the American world is aware A that the part California assumed, or rather endured, during the Rebellion, was comparatively of a passive charac
ter. No one who knows her history during that time but will give her credit for possessing and exhibiting fire, energy, fidelity, and liberality equally with any of her sister States; but she was not called upon for any of those huge sacrifices of life incidental to the immediate sections of the battle- grounds
of the nation's life-and-death struggle, and has therefore to comfort and console herself by remembering that high authority has pronounced, "They also serve who only watch and wait."
But that this watching and waiting were often very wearying and irksome service, let those bear witness who remember the discontent of the California Volunteers kept in New Mexico for the sole duty of protecting the animated indolence of that Territory against the
Navajo and Apache Indians; and their petition, officers and men, to be allowed the privilege of paying their own expenses to the seat of actual war; anxious at any cost to be partakers in those thrilling events where the actors, making for themselves name and history, began the initial emblazonment of personal escutcheons.
The material composing our State troops was magnificent. Stalwart, bigbearded men, hardened and bronzed by habitual exposure to every vicissitude of a miner's and farmer's life, came forward in such crowds that it was impossible to receive all who applied. I well remember many such scenes at Camp Downey, near Oakland, in 1861, where companies recruited in the mountains, far above the regulation strength, marched up for inspection to that camp; and how grand they seemed to me in their simple, anxious, earnest looks, fearing they would not be wanted. Every man with a valise or carpet-bag; every one well dressed; every one bearing facial testimonials of men who could be trusted to take honest, hearty part in those patriotie services for which they now volunteered. And I also remember the lengthened visages of those rejected, necessarily, by the mustering officer, as being in excess of the company strength, and their strenuous efforts to get in somewhere, being determined not to be left out of the struggle. The testimony of old army-officers, men of the Mexican and Indian, wars, is to this day that they were the best men, in every sense of that word, they had ever commanded; and they are even now so indorsed by such veterans as Carleton, Black, A. T. Smith, Sprague, and others.
In the spring of 1862 the California troops had got well forward, and were distributed at various points from Los Angeles to the Rio Grande. Their usefulness and necessity were now apparent in the gradual diminishing of those Indi an attacks which, in consequence of the withdrawal of our former troops, had become of frequent occurrence. The Indians had become aware of the schism in the Pale-Face councils, and doubtless knew by experience what such schisms portended. They knew, none better, that a house divided against itself can not stand very long, and reaped a good harvest of plunder by the knowledge, taking the entire contents of several military posts in consequence of our schisms—of which they had a full understanding from their Confederate and Mexican allies. To counteract this condition of affairs, the California troops were put in garrison at the old posts, and at several new ones. Among the latter was established Fort West, named after Colonel West, of the 1st California Infantry —an officer of great gallantry and some experience. The post was located in the vicinity of the Palo Alto and Santa Rita copper mines; near also to the site of old Fort McLane, and the present Fort Bayard, and about twentyfive miles west of the Mimbres River. The Gila River—one of those spasmodic streams which, as in all highly porous countries, is one day a rivulet, the next a torrent—takes its rise from the confluence of several streams in the mountains north and east of Fort West. Issuing directly from the Sierra Diablo—a far more diabolical sierra than its namesake, whose daily glooms at Benicia only provoke admiration—it takes a sympathetic westward course, to mingle, ultimately, in sweet dalliance with the red, rough, and rugged Colorado, telling that old traveler of all the wonders it has seen, and contributing its samples in admiring tribute. But before it nears the post, there interposes a longitudinal spur of the black, basaltic mountain range from which the river had issued, and "diabolously" is the poor stream thyust on one side, and forced to take a direct dip to the south, until its
persecutor, tired of the cdéntest, bows him down in gradual humility; and then our Gila, curving around in triumphant rush, with accelerated impetus, seeks his normal course, first by the due north, then westing gradually—thus making and leaving a large tract of fertile land, inclosed by its own banks on three sides. The large tongue of land thus formed has been made very productive by the river's Meanderings and overflowings; and here one of those speculations, of doubtful use and beneficence —an Apache reservation—has been located.
The location of the post was wisely taken, and in accordance with the views of former military men who had operated in this country: being well placed for easy communication with the many valuable mining-camps of the region—a region in which the tradition of the Red Man and experience of the White have concurred, even to the present day, to describe as unsurpassed in mineral wealth.
It was also well adapted for the recruiting of animals, broken down by service in this sterile country —having good and abundant grass, so that cavalry could be effectively maintained, and ready for instant service against the Apaches, whose favorite country this was. It was here, too, that the warrior, so well known and dreaded—Mangas Colorado, or Red-Sleeve, a name significant of his bloody renown—rode his fierce raids of plunder and death; and here, but a short time after the establishment of the post, and previous to that scout forming the heading of this paper, that he of the red-sleeve met his fate from the bullet of a cavalry Sergeant; not such as such a warrior might be expected to meet, but while drunk, and a prisoner in the guard-house. A
wonderful man was Mangas: a mind of steel in a body of iron; a giant, mentally and physically, with all the devilish propensities that giants in all ages have been accredited with.
Six feet four inches in his moccasins; square of shoulder; broad of chest; Jong of limb; bright of eye; quick of movement—all these told concord with the square, massive jaw, always indicative of immovable resolution.
You should have heard him laugh.
No pleasant risibility, like that which used, in Florida, to make Billy Bowlegsaudible smiles the heartiest and merriest noise in our camp, was his: it was a guttural, short bark, of great depth and volume, as though there was much savage oxygen in the caverns whence those portentous sounds issued. Was it that even in a jocular mood, the animus of his race mingled with the softer emotions, and thus he laughed as one who "scorned himself that he could laugh;" or that he had a presentiment of evil, even from the hospitality of the White Man, and his laugh was a protest and warning from the spirit-land? Be that as it may, he died here an ignoble death, and he died thus: The white flag had hung amicably from the garrison, visible to a great distance, for several days, before any of the Indians came into camp, from their hiding- places in the surrounding mountains. A squaw came in first—came with great trepidation; she was well-treated, and told to bring others in; next day came men, women, and children; they were fed, and given small presents; but at last came him for whom all the display had been made, the planet of these lesser lights—Mangas, the great.
A few interviews wore off the shyness and suspicion which our visitors habitually indulged in; and they no longer seemed like wild beasts furtively glancing at every movement of our people. Yet neither they nor we relaxed proper vigilance, and it needed no twice telling them to leave camp at sunset. Every morning they would return, eat all they could get, squat on the ground, smoke continually, take all your presents with
that stolid indifference which everywhere prevails among them; watch all your movements, and leave at night as before; neither putting faith in the other, yet behaving decently as in armed truce: and so affairs seemed progressing favorably toward one of those burlesque Indian treaties, whose name is legion and whose nature is as the mirage of the desert, being, like them, substantial or unsubstantial, according to the distance preserved. A temporary treaty was, however, desirable to us for several reasons; and as it seemed equally agreeable to Mangas, we managed to keep up amicable appearances for some time.
But Mangas had a weakness for whisky, and aguardiente was his Delilah. This article was not as scarce in camp then as it afterward became, when, from our isolation, evén food was nearly exhausted; and our visitors took readily all they could get. One day it occurred that Mangas being unusually social, toddies of considerable strength and frequency were wasted on him, at least they seemed to be wasted on his granite brain, until toward evening he, surreptitiously obtaining a bottle full of liquor, swallowed a large portion of it, to the detriment of his locomotive powers, which began to describe curves instead of straight lines.
As he now began to get noisy, and might be troublesome, and as his people had left camp, it was deemed advisable to put him in charge of the guard, who were instructed to take care that in his present condition he did not leave until daylight. Mangas was somewhat indignant, and disposed to resist when the guard led him off: his resistance, however, was maudlin and undecided. Like many others, "protgsting he would ne'er consent, consented," he was led off quietly, soon falling into a deep slumber.
The night had far advanced to morning before Mangas awoke, and, as he did so, all his faculties took the alarm. Here he was in the prison and custody
of his enemies—men with whom he never kept nor expected faith. In an instant he was on his feet, his eye was on the door; but at that moment the Sergeant of the Guard, loaded carbine at shoulder, stood fronting him. Who shall tell what host of memories crowding their avenging claims upon the soldier's brain stood also in front? Who shall tell what pictures of woe and desolation, for the future as in the past, in which the Apache Chief was the principal figure, moved before the soldier's vision, and nerved his hand and heart to send a bullet surely into the Apache's brain, speeding out of this world a being who equaled in atrocity any of the most pitiless heroes of war? And thus died the red-sleeved Chief. This statement of facts connected with his death will be received with feelings dependent upon the prior education of the reader. If he be an admirer or apologist of the Indian for the part taken by him in his intercourse with our race, and ready to class all or most of his actions as justifiable retaliations, it will receive the usual condemnation accorded to summary dealings with the Indians by our race; but if he or his friends have suffered in person or property by one of their characteristic raids, made, as usual, indiscriminately upon any Pale Face they meet, he most likely will conclude Mangas met a fate well deserved, and was checked by tactics of his own institution or adoption. The Indian well understands the /ex ¢alionis: so the men of the post often wondered why he should trust himself in their hands after his conduct to them at Apache Pass, now Fort Bowie, in April, 1862. They well remembered the death of their three comrades—Maloney and twoothers—treacherously slain there while filling their canteens at the spring on the hill, by a portion of this very band, while the others, about two hundred yards distant, were collected for a peace treaty, shak ing hands and receiving presents from Captain Fritz, who, with his Company B, 1st California Cavalry, had halted there, ex route to the Rio Grande. And the sight of those poor fellows lying there dead, frightfully mutilated, stuck full of arrows, scalped, with cheeks torn off by the whiskers, being ever before their view, must not be forgotten when the matter of Mangas' death is under consideration.
Of course after this no more Apaches came near, and life at this post was monotonous as usual, diversified only by careful scrutiny for Indian signs of retaliation, which we daily expected, and by the interest taken in the skeleton of Mangas, as prepared by the Post Surgeon. It was the wonder of all who saw it, and was described by the Surgeon as a marvel of size, symmetry, and closeness of bone texture. The skull was particularly noticeable from the breadth of forehead and jaw, and from possessing two complete sets of teeth in each jaw— a fact said to be almost without parallel. So wide was the lower jaw that nearly any man at the post could put his face inside it without contact.
Opposite our camp, about one mile distant, was a very fertile meadow, on which, guarded by eight men, grazed about four hundred horses and mules, mostly broken-down animals left here to recruit their strength after toiling over the sterile deserts; they also included most of the cavalry horses pertaining to the force at the post. This meadow was in our full view; and the monotony was varied by seeing, one June afternoon, about two o'clock, a party of Indians, not more than twelve, suddenly descend upon the herd, drive in the unthinking guard, who were probably taking a siesta, lulled into security, as the Indians intended, by the time elapsing since Mangas' death, successfully stampede, and drive off the entire band of animals.
Imagine our commotion—the running,
BLACK CANON. 225
shouting, and swearing that sprung up, sudden and violent as one of those tall, slender, corkscrew dust-columns, seen here every day in the hot weather, but not like them subsiding ineffectually as they rose.
The first excitement over, the blood cooled down, and military judgment and experience began to show their value; for we had as Post Commander an officer possessing those qualities in an eminent degree. Captain McCleave, of the 1st California Cavalry, was in command; and as his experience in the army included ten years of campaigning in New Mexico, Arizona, and adjoining Indian countries, the present raid upon our stock was one of those events with whose character and consequences, as well as mode of treatment, he was well acquainted. There was, consequently, no flurry in manner or excitement of face to be seen as he walked across the parade-ground, and, meeting Lieutenant French, gave the order to mount soon as possible one hundred men, with five days' rations, for a scout. But those who knew our Commandant well remarked, "There's a devilish look in Mac's eye that foretells stiff work for us: he will have those horses again, or give good reason why."
Nearly all of the required one hundred horses were with the stampeded herd, but several of the old and well-trained animals proved refractory, and the Indians were unable to prevent them returning; these leading others back, sufficient were obtained to mount the command. It was, however, near three hours
'before we were ready to start, and the de
lay was most irritating to us all, that the robbers should get so much ahead of us. We all knew "a stern chase is a long chase," and particularly so when a gain of twenty miles would enable the flying foe to enter one of those formidable cations abounding in the country to which they were hastening. But the
delay was unavoidable, for it included catching horses and packing mules with rations; and as it invariably happens that excited teamsters and packers communicate their excitement to the animals, great difficulty was experienced in catching some of the indispensable mules. Neither are American cavalry soldiers like Mexican vagueros, ready at all times for travel with only a few yards of carne seca and a bag of pinole slung to the saddle-bow; the Mexican is also without those numerous little horseequipments which the American, having had them issued to him, can not lose, as he would be sure to find them again—on his pay-rolls —as army wags say. At last we were ready, and our strength was: Captain McCleave, Lieutenants French and Latimer, with one hundred men and five days' rations of hard-tack and uncooked salt-pork —the food on pack-mules. Each man had carbine, pistols, and sabre; also, forty rounds of ammunition. Three-fourths of us were badly mounted; but we set off in good spirits, followed by the good wishes and regrets of those who were left behind that they could not also go. At five P.M. we left camp—our course nearly due west toward that far-distant range of mountains bounding our horizon, in some one of whose many caftons it was surmised we might find what we sought. Onward we went; our quick walk was soon changed intoatrot. The guide, Juan—a Mexican, many years prisoner with the Apaches in these regions—rode at the head in company with McCleave.
The trail was fresh, and very plain; our spirits and blood were warm, not only with the hopes of recovering our losses, but-with confidence in our leader; and so for all that night and for three successive days and nights, we rode on without sleep or other food than the packed rations of hard biscuit and raw pork. But we kept on, and not a
man fell back, although at least sixty horses, as was expected from their condition at the start, fell down on the way. It seemed almost impossible to traverse a worse road than that which the Indians had, no doubt purposely, chosen to drive the stolen stock. It is a favorite policy with them to choose bad roads in such cases, experience having taught them that the pursuers, both man and beast, easily lose considerable of their initial energy when the pursuit offers continual and increasing difficulty. Thus calculating on the White Man's love of comfort, and the inability of his large and usually fat horses to stand the sudden fatigue, they hasten the spoil forward, killing those who lag behind, and content with getting even one-half of the stolen stock to their strongholds. In this way I have known them to drive a band of ten thousand sheep, stolen in New Mexico, over sixty miles daily, several days in succession, until the route was easily tracked by the dead carcasses. They had evidently adopted this policy on the present occasion, and in following their trail we had to pass over sharp, black, volcanic rocks, half buried in sanddiifts; ascending and descending continually hills so steep that nothing but the imperative necessity of keeping the trail could induce. On our third day of travel many of the horses began to fail. With animals an exhibition of fatigue seems to have a contagious character; and on the present occasion, when the disease was becoming pretty extensive, our Commandant, halting the troop, ordered a detail with instructions to kill all horses unable to keep up with the rest, and to break up the saddles; the riders to accompany us as foot-soldiers. This was promptly done, and before the night of the fourth day's march seventy horses had been thus treated, and there seemed little likelinood that more than ten of the remainder could sustain another day's march. But we all trudged
on, well as we were able, not one stayed behind; and in our greatest fatigue from first to last on the scout, I did not hear a murmur of discontent.
The evening of the fourth day approached, and the road we now entered on was of an improved character, though still broken and stony; but the trail was plain, and our spirits were well up by the reports of our guide, who confidently predicted we should find the Indians in a village well known to him, at the far end of Black River Cafion, whose entrance he indicated by the deeper shades visible in the nearing mountain range. We reached the cafion's mouth by sunset; and now, camping near a small stream, enjoyed our first ration of sleep since starting, taking it with great appetite. In the meantime the guide, who had been sent forward to reconnoitre, returned, bringing with him a horse branded "U.S.:" it was at once recognized as one of the stolen stock, and gave good proof of the close proximity of the enemy. The command were allowed four hours' sleep; they were then aroused, and being paraded, were addressed by their leader, who informed them that he was about to find the Indians, who could not be far off; that he should take one-half of the command with him, concluding thus: "Boys, do you want me to tell you how to whip these d—— Indians? 'Tis this: never show them your backs."
If the reader has felt sufficient interest in this sketch to follow up the details of our ride from the fort to this, our camping-ground, at the entrance of the cafton, he will remember that our sole sustenance, four days and nights, had been hard bread and raw pork, with but four hours' sleep during that time; that out of the one hundred horses with which we started, but thirty remained alive; and of these but fifteen were capable of further service; and that most of the men had performed two days
BLACK CANON. 227
journey on foot, with all their accoutrements. And if he seeks to find adequate cause for the spirit and endurance which were so wonderfully exhibited by them under these depressing circumstances, I know of no other solution than that they were personally attached to their leader, and felt not only that he would wisely do all that a man could do, but that he would lead and share freely in the most venturous exploits; and it was this that made and kept every man patient, cheerful, and courageous.
Iam speaking of one personally known to thousands of soldiers on this coast; endeared to them by acts brave, kind, and considerate as ever distinguished any soldier, in any age; one who possessed a strong personal magnetism, to influence for good all around him, and whose name is still, in the army which he honors with his services, a synonym for all that is brave, good, and kind. The disposition of our force having been made, we, fifty in number, fifteen of whom were mounted, went forward, led by McCleave and the guide. We had confidently expected to reach, in about five miles of travel, some place overlooking the Indian camp, where we, concealed from view, could remain until daylight, getting vigor into our tired bodies, and be ready for the attack at dawn; but no such good-fortune awaited us. On we trudged, that tedious night, over rocks and hills, mile after mile, until twenty such were passed before the halt was called; when, wet to the skin, for it had rained the entire march, and cold and hungry, we sank down, near the top of a hill whose everascending peaks in our front made us think this one of that kind the poet speaks of as "moving its summit from the tired man's view." Here we rested, and our condition was so deplorable, with wet, fatigue, and hunger, that our leader gave reluctant permission to light a fire, which was soon done, and we
gained strength and comfort from its genial influence. Day was near breaking at this time, and, as the rain had ceased, the morning star was seen to rise in a glory which none can realize but he who has seen it above the clear aurora of an Arizona morning. To observe it better, and to see if the daylight would give us signs of the enemy, some of the men went to the top of the hill —one of them climbing a tall, isolated rock, for the purpose. He was there but a minute; the next, descending, he hastened to McCleave, and revealed the fact of the village being in a valley at the foot of the mountain. Immediately the fires were extinguished, silence was observed, and every man made himself ready for an instant attack. We descended the mountain in a circuitous route, those on foot leading, and the dawning light showed us that our great speed and privation of travel were likely to have a merited reward, for the Indians, not calculating on such rapidity of pursuit, which, in their experience, must have been utterly unparalleled, or, perhaps, expecting no pursuit, were utterly without watch or guard. Most, probably all, of them were asleep in their huts; one or two light smokes, seemingly from fires smoldering through the night —an Indian custom—were issuing lazily from huts, but not a human being could be seen; while, at various points, in easy distance, three distinct bands of horses could be seen, grazing contentedly on the rich herbage of the valley.
Onward we went, silent as our fifteen horses' feet would let us, picking our way around the loose rocks of the path, and scattered so that no measured tramp should defeat our hopes of getting near them unperceived; until, when within about twenty yards of them, a yell was given from their huts, and in an instant all was war. Dark forms, armed with rifles and bows, yelling like wolves,
rushed to the hill-sides for safety; but they were quickly met, and paid in their own coin for their late aggressions. Our men had their blood up: hunger, thirst, and fatigue, all vanished with the first ring of the carbine, seconded by the clear trumpet-tones of McCleave's voice, as he led the attack. So we took every chance; but we had surprised the enemy in our turn, our carbines were close and well aimed, and the foe went down before the attacks of our horsemen and foot as snow falls before the sun's heat. Many a personal duel occurred, but in no case were the Indians victorious; and in fifteen minutes we remained sole masters of the field, the Indians who could having fled to the hills above.
Guards were now posted, and, upon a review of the field, about forty bodies of the enemy were counted; while we had not even a wounded man—so violent, sudden, and successful had been our attack. After resting a few minutes, some were sent to bring in the horses we had recovered; while others gathered the spoils of the camp into a heap, and, lighting a fire, made them all into cinders. There were consumed over two tons of dried beef, as much of prepared mescal-root, and a quantity of saddles, bridles, blankets, muskets, bows and arrows, and cooking utensils—nearly all of these the product of former robberies. The horses, over three hundred in number, and found to be all of our stock that had not died on the road; many branded cavalry horses, stolen from others, and a small lot of Indian ponies, were collected together and driven in front of us, as we proceeded to retrace our victorious steps. But we had not done with the enemy yet: they had no intention of letting us off without another struggle for victory; and as the herders were passing a wooded arroyo, a shower of bullets was poured in at them, resulting in the wounding of private Hall and the death of two horses. It was certainly
owing to the excellent discipline observed that they did not do much more mischief. They had, of course, intended to follow up their fire by a rush to stampede the herd; but this possibility had been foreseen, and the arroyo guarded; and though they had lain down in the bushes, and it was not possible to see or prevent their fire, they found such a volley of lead poured among them, and such a fierce rush for their hiding-places, that they again placed safe distance between themselves and us. No further interruption took place, and we returned before evening to the rear-guard left at the entrance of the cafion, exhibiting triumphantly the results of our adventure, amidst the hearty congratulations and loudly expressed envy of our luck on the part of those left behind, whose remarks seemed like sweet music, compensating us for the extra fatigue and danger incurred. Our guard were well on the alert that night; but no alarm occurred, and we who had been in the fray were able to get a refreshing night's sleep, previous to starting next morning on the returntrip. We took a newroute, following the guide, who asserted that by going again up the cafion about seven miles, and ascending a hill, we should enter upon a level country, leading directly to camp, and saving two days' travel as well. This was most acceptable news, for we were utterly without food, except a little dried beef, secured from the flames after the fight, by some who were thoughtful for the future. As we advanced up the cafton, beyond where our detachment in their night-march had left it, it became evident that we were entering a place requiring all our caution against surprise. An advance-guard, therefore, went cautiously forward, followed—at about one hundred yards' distance—by the main body; then came the herd and a rear-guard. The scenery of the cation was remarkably attractive and romantic; and, at some time when we were not
BLACK CANON. 229 tired, hungry, or expecting an attack, would have awakened all our admiration for its beauties. But now, in its cedargarnished, high, almost perpendicular walls, jutting out at intervals to meet corresponding depressions of its opposite sides; and in the gloom of its closely approximating heights, which, often not more than twenty-five yards apart, gave delightful coolness to the clear stream at its base, and fed the sweet grass on its banks, we unappreciating soldiers could only see additional reasons and facility for 4 farewell, hostile attack from our old foe. A heavy storm, too, was threatening us;'clouds, dark almost as midnight, having that yellow glare along their edges which sojourners in Arizona know to mean torrents of rain, with thunder and lightning of the heaviest calibre, were gathering and concentrating on the cool air-current of the cafion; and soon it came—not, however, as violent in our vicinity as we expected —but, treating us to a few large drops, which fell heavy as incipient ice upon the leaves around, telling us what it could do if it would, it passed on swiftly without further parleying. But not soits electrical train: right over our heads flashed the most vivid lightning, and bellowed the most deafening thunder; then came that well-known succeeding pause, or blank, as though the quivering atmosphere hung in doubtful action, and then— presto! —a volley of fire-arms, aimed at our rear-guard by the Indians, who, crowning the cafton's heights, had been, by this most friendly cloud-storm, prevented from noticing that our force had passed, and, not perceiving their error, had fired on our rearguard.
Again came the tug of war; but this time it was we who were surprised, and in a tight place enough, for the Indians were above us, securely posted behind rocks and trees, and could pick us off at leisure. 'Mount the rocks,
boys, and drive those skulkers from their holes, and the rest of you protect them while they climb," shouted McCleave's voice, well heard above all the din: it was done quickly and safely by several, although the climbing was hard, affording but little foot-hold for, men with carbines; but they got up somehow, and soon their ringing shots and triumphant shouts told of complete success. Four more Apache warriors paid their last tribute, and the rest of them fled in great haste, giving us up as im; practicable, I suppose, for we saw no more Indians during the rest of the journey. One incident of the last fight, seen by all the company, is worth telling: A man named Collins was among the climbers to the top of the rocks; upon getting there, he at once took post behind a rock, and carefully scrutinized around, but for some time without success. He was, however, in good view of his comrades in the cafion, who motioned to him that an Indian lay secreted in a certain place. Collins, now stepping partially out from his rock, raised his carbine to his shoulder, shuffled with his feet, and coughed. In an instant, the Indian raised himself to fire, but, as he did so, Collins shot him through the head. Loading quickly, he crept cautiously forward, but soon saw there was no necessity for further hostilities; he therefore contented himself with lifting the body, and crying out, "Stand from under, boys," threw it, amid loud cheers, to his comrades below. | will finish about Collins, by relating that some time afterward, at Fort West, McCleave issued an order, creating Collins a Corporal for his conspicuous bravery on that occasion. Now the duties and honors of a non-commissioned officer, to which he was thus suddenly exalted, had a most appalling prospective effect upon the gallant fellow, who regarded it as any thing but desirable; so, when congratulated on his promotion, he only
knitted his brows, and ground his teeth together, swearing, in irrepressible disgust: "I'll be d—— if I kill another Indian as long as I am in the service." The results of this fight were, two horses killed, and Lieutenant French wounded in the thigh. It was, though severe, fortunately only a flesh- wound, and he was not incapacitated for slow riding on horseback. After the skirmish, our guide, leaving the cafion, led us up a hill-side, ending in a somewhat level, gently sloping plain; then over rolling hills, covered with cedar and juniper, for about fifteen miles, when we were much pleased to behold, in the distance, the long belt of bright-green cottonwood foliage that marks the course of the Gila in its wanderings, as at a short way beyond its banks lay Camp West, and it was anticipated that, by a little extra exertion, we might get there that night. So we went on cheerfully, despite the situation, and eyes brightened, tongues loosened, and the hoarded "last bit of tobacco," kept for emergency, was brought out and passed liberally around, under the cheering prospect of many well-known, prominent landmarks, indicating our proximity tohome. But there came a sudden halt in front; something was evidently wrong; the guide seemed asionished and confounded, the Commandant indignant and disgusted; and, upon riding up, the melancholy truth came out, that our guide, in his eagerness to develop a new and short route, not having made due allowance for probable topographical difficulties, had brought us, by gradual ascent, to the edge of a precipice, skirting north and south, for many miles, the valley in our front, which, though it lay smiling and inviting, was yet impossible of attainment, unless we could safely jump five hundred feet of perpendicular descent.
If ever a body of men were justifiably disgusted with a guide, it was that body; and if ever a set of men were so satu rated with disgust as to consider mere words an utterly inadequate way of expressing the fullness of their souls, those returning soldiers were that set; and I presume the angel whose duty it was to put the curses, "not loud, but very, very deep," then and there developed, on record, will balance against them the many extenuating circumstances of our condition. But there was no remedy to be found in words of any kind; and, as the geography of our position became fully understood, it was evident to all that our only course was to retrace our entire day's march back to the cation from whence we had that morning started, and from thence take the shortest road to Camp West. A nightcamp here, however unfavorable the position, was inevitable; so our horses were all placed in an inclosure, formed by encircling pickets of three men each, in which duty all were detailed, and sleep prohibited. It being a tongue of land, with deep ravines on two sides, the animals were easily kept from straying. A horse was killed for food, and
we passed the night cheerfully, though without water, or that great solace of a soldier, tobacco; finding our pleasures in chewing burnt horse-flesh and fighting our battles over again.
The march was resumed next day; we passed safely through the cafton, and took our old road on the home-stretch, meeting, on the second day, an escort from the camp with provisions, an ambulance, and medical help. Two days of similar travel brought us into camp, to receive the warm welcome and congratulations of our comrades; and they were so hearty and unmeasured as to compensate for all we had endured.
Lieutenant French soon recovered from his wound; but Hall died in two days after his arrival incamp. His knee was badly shattered by the bullet, and mortification came on rapidly; the difficulty. of his position, having to be carried in a litter made of blankets fastened to poles, had made life a burden to him. We gave him a soldier's funeral, moistening his grave with our tears, and decorating it with our regrets.
AT THE HACIENDA.
I know not whom thou may'st be,
Carven on this olive - tree, **Manuela Della Torre." For around on broken walls
Summer sun and spring rain falls,
And in vain the low wind calls, '¢Manuela Della Torre.'
Of thy song no words remain But the musical refrain, '*Manuela Della Torre.'Yet at night, when winds are still, Tinkles on the distant hill A guitar; and words that thrill Tell to me the old, old story — Old when first thy charms were sung, Old when these old walls were young— Manuela Della Torre