Giant World-builders

'In those days there were giants in the land mighty men of power and renown.' - Bible. The cowards (lid not start to the Pacilic coast in the old days: all the weak died on the way. And so it was that we had then nofc only a race of giants, but of gods. Itis to be allowed that they were not at all careful of the laws, either ancient or modern, ecclesiastical orlay. They wouldourse. They would fight like dogs - aye, like Christiahs in liattle. But there was more solid honor among those men than the world will ever see again in any body of men, I fear, till it approaches the millennium. Is it dying]out with them ? I hear that the new Californians aro rather common cattle. Do you know where the realold Californian is V - the giant, the world builder ? He is sitting by the trail high up on the mountain. Ilis eyes are dim, and liis head is white. His sleeves are lowered. Ilis piek and shovel are at his sfde. His feet are weary and sore. He is still prospecting. Pretty soon he will sink his last prospect hole in the Sierra. Some younger men will come along and lengthen it out a little, and lay him in his grave. The old miner will have passed on to prospect theoutcroppings that star the floors of heaven. He is not numerous now; but I saw him last summer high up on the head waters of the Sacramento. His face is set forever away from that civihzation whicli has passed him by. He is called a tramp now. And the new, nice people who have slid over the plains in a, )alace car, and settled down there, set [ogs on him sometimes when he comes hat way. T cliarge yon treat the old Calif ornian well, wherever yon flnd him. He lias een more, suffered more, practised more selfdenial, than can now fall to he lot of any man. And though lie nay die there in the pines on the nighty mountain, while still feebly searching for the golden fleece, do not orget that his life is an epic, noble as any handed down from out the dusty eld. I implore you treat him kindly. Some day a fitting poet will come, and hen he will take his place among the ïeroes and the gods. But there is another old Californian, a wearier man, the successf ui one. He, oo, is getting gray. But he is a power n the land. He is a prince in fact and n act. What strange fate was it that ;hrew dust in the eyes of that old Caliornian, sitting by the trail high upon he niountain, aud blinded him so that ie could not see the gold just withüj lis grasp, a quarter of a century ago? And what good fairy was it that led nis old Californian, now the banker, he railroad king, or senator, to where he mountain gnomes had hidden their rod of old ? What accidental beggars uid princes we have in the world tolay! But whether beggar or prince, he old Californian stands a head and shoulder talier than ais fellows whereever you may flnd liim. This is a solid, rranite truth. A few years ago a steamer drew ino the Hay of Naples with a lot of passenger, among whom were a small )arty of Americans. The night had jeen rough and the ship was behind ime. It was ten o'clock already, and no breakfast. The stingy captain had resolved to economize. A stout, quiet nan, with a stout hickory stick, went ;o the captain and begged for a little coffee, at least, for the ladies, The captain turned his back, fluttered his coat tails in the face of the stout, quiet nan, and walked up his deck. The stout, quiet man followed, and still respectfully begged for something for he ladies, who were faint with hunger Chen the captain turned and threaten(1 to put hitn in irons, at the same ime caLling his offtcers around him. The stout man with the stout stick vciy (juickly proceeded to tJirash the captain. He thrashed him till he could not stand; and then thraslied every offlcer that daml to show hits face, as well as half the crew. Then he went lown and made the cook get breakfast. This was an old Californian, "Dave Colton," as we used to cali hini up at Yreka. ( )f course, an act like that was punïshable with death almost. 'Piracy on iie seas,' and all that sort of offense was charged; and I know not how muc.h eold it cost to heal the wounded ïead and dignity of the captain of the ship. But this Californian neither knew the law nor cared for the law. He had a little party of ladies withhim, and he would not see them go hungry. He would have thatcoffeeif itcost him his luxul. Dear Dave Colton ! I hear he is dead now. We first got acquainted one niglit at Yreka while shooting at each other. And what a fe;irful shooting affair that was! Many a grizled old miner of the north still remembers it all vividly, although il took place more than a quarter of a century ago. It would make the most thrilling chapter of a romance, or the final act of a tragedy. To crowd a whole book briefly into a few words, the Yreka minen insisted on using all the water in Greenhorn over to Yreka Flats. The Greenhorn miners, about flve hundred strong, held a meeting and remonstrated with the minersof Yreka, who numbered aboutflve thousand. But they wereonly laughed at. So, on tlie 23(1 day of Pebruary, 1855, 1 liey threw themselves into a body, and marohing down, to a man, they tore out tin-, uam and set the water on its natural channel. X say to a man, and, I might add, to a boy. For I, the only boy on Greenhorn, although quietly ofñciating as cook iu the cabin of a party of minera from Oregon, was ordered to shoulder a pick-liandle by the redheaded leader, Bill Fox, and fall in line. I ought to admit, perhaps, that I gladly obeyed - for it Hattered me to be treated as i f I wére a man, even by the red-lieaded Irisli bully and desperado. I remember that on the maren to the dam, the quiet, peace-loving men of Quaker proclivites were found still at work. On their declining to join us, Fox ordered his men to seize them and bear them along in front, so that they should be the first exposed to the búllete of Yreka. Had the mob dispersed after destroying the dam no blood would have been shed. But unfortunately the Wheeler brothers rolled out a barrel of whisky, and, knocking in the head, hung the barrel with tin cups, and told the boys to "pitch in." A fooi could have foreiseen the result. Some worthless íeüows got diimk and went to Yreka, boasting of their work of destruction. They were arrested by Dave Colton, then sherifï of Siskiyou county, and thrown into prison. The news of the arrests reached üs at Greenhorn about dark, and in halt' au hour we were on our way to the county seat to take the men out of jail. Some of our men were half drunk, others wholly so, and all were wild with excitement. Nearly all were armed with six shooters. We ran forward as we approached the jail, pistols in hand. Being nimble-footed and having no better sense, I was arnong the flrst. Sheriff Colton, who had heard of our coming, and taking up position in the jail, promptly refused to give up his prisoners without process of law; and we opened flre. The sheriff and his posse answered back - and what a scatterment! Our men litterally broke down and swept away board cabins and fences in their tlight! But there were some that did not liy. One, Dr. Stone, the best man of our 500, 1 think, lay dying in the jail yard along witha few oithers; and there were men of our party who would not desert them. The flght lasted in a loóse sort of fashion for hours. We would flght awhile and then parley awhile. We were flnally, by some kind of compromise not found in law books, allowed to go back with our prisoners and our dead and wounded. This was known as the "Greenhorn War." We threw up breast works on Greenhorn, and waited for the sheriff, who had been slightly wounded to come out and attempt to make arrests. But he never came. And I never met him any more till his trouble in Naples. 1 wonder how many of us are alive today! I saw the old earthworks only last year. They are almost leveled now. ïhe brown grass and weeds covered them. As I climbed the hill to hunt for our old fortress, a squirrel scampered int his hole under the wall, while on the highest rock a litttle black lizard basked and blinked in the sun, and kept unchallenged sentinel. I remember when we carne to bury the dead. The men were mighty sober now. We eould not go to town for a preacher, and so one of our party had to officiate. This was the saddest burial I ever saw. The man broke down who first began to read. His voice trembled so lie could not get on. Then another man took the Bible and tried to finish the chapter, but his voici' trembled, too, and pretty soon he choked up and hid his face, Then every man there cried, I think. They loved Dr. Stone so. lie was a mere boy, yet a gradúate, and beautiful and brave as a Greek of oíd. Ah, these, the dead, are the mighty majority of oíd Californians! No one would guess how numerous they are. California was one vast battle field. The knights of the nineteenth century lie buried in her bosom; while heve and there, over the mountain tops, totters a lone survivor, still prospecting, And I sit here, at forty year, Dipping my nose in tlie Gascón wine. There ia an older Californian still - "the oldest inhabitant," indeed, I knew hiin, a lusty native, a quarter of a century ago in the impenetrable foresta and lava beds around the base ( f Mount Shasta. He, too, is dead; dead in spirit at least, if not altogether in fact. If valor is a virtue, let us at least concede that to the red man ofthe California mountains. There were battles fought here between the miners and red men before Gen. Canby was ever heard of. They were bloody battles, too, But they never got to the ears of the world. If Capt. Jack, with his handful of braves, held the United States army at bay ior half a yenr, you may well understand that we minen met no boy's )lay there when these Indians were nuoerous and united. But this 'old Caiiforntan,' as I knew iii)i there, is utterly extinet. About ;he iisheries of the McCloud, and along ;he stage road on the head wateis of ;he Sacramento Kiver, you see little ïouses now and then not imlike our miners' cabina of old. These are the ïomes of the few remaining Indiaas of northern California. There is a little garden, and straggling patches of corn ibout tlie door; two' or three miserable xmies nibble about the barren hills ïard by, and a withered, wrinkled old squaw or two grunts under. a load of wood or water as she steps sullen and silent out of the path to let you pass. And that is about all. Her husband, her sons, are dead or dying of diseasesi in the dark, smoky cabin yonder. He accepted the inevitable, and is trying to be civilized. Alas! long before that point is reached he will have joïned his fathera on the other side of darkness. 1 spent a íew weeks at Lower Soda Springs, near Monnt Sliasta, last summer, in sight of pur old battle ground ín Castle Rocks, or Castillo del JMablo, as it was then called. 1 tried to find some of the men who had fought in that little battle. But one white man reniained. Squire Gibson. At the time of this fight, which took place on the 15th day of June, 1855, he was married to the daughter of a f riendiy ehief , and as he was the only alcalde in all that country, was a sort of military as well as civil leader, and in the battle was conspicuous both for courage and gooc sense. He tried to. keep me back anc out of danger. He told me that I was of no account in the fight, and only in the way. But when I was shot down at his side in a charge through the chaparral, he took me in his arms am carried me safely aside. He cared for me af terward, too, till I got well. How glad I was to find liim still alive 1 When yoti go up to Soda Springs, jump out of the stage at Sweetbriar Ranch, only a few miles this side of Soda, and look him up. Do you tliink liim an illiterate boorV He is of one of the best families in New York, a gentleman and a acholar. A few years ago, one of his wealthy sisters came out to visit the old man from the Eastern States. From San Francisco slie telegraphed her approach and the probable day of her arrival at his mansión. She came; but she did not find him. Squire Gibson had long contemplated prospecting the rugged summit of au inaccessible mountain. He feit that the time had come for this vvork, as his venerable malden sister, with all her h igh ideas of 'family,' approach ed. He called his spouse and his tawny children about him, bade them take uptheir baskets and go very high up into the mountains, for acorns. And the gray old Califomian sinched his little mule till she grunted, tied a piek, pan and shovel to the saddle, and so pointed her nose up the peak, and climbed as if he was climbing for the morning star. Squire Gibson, I beg your pardon for dragging your name and your deeds before the heartless world. Believe me, old friend and eomrade, it is not to trade upon it or to fatten my own vanity. But do you know I have been waiting for ten years for you to die, so that I might write you up and do you a turn for your kindness to a hair-brained boy more than twenty-five years ago? It is a fact. But it begins to look now as if you are going to outlive me; you ;here in the high, pure air, and I here n the pent-up city. And so I venture ;o put you in this sketch, and name you as one of the uncrowned California tings! I count it rather otld that I should have found even one man in this región still, after so long a time, for of all wanderers the California is the veriest nomad upon the face of the earth. Perhaps it is a bit of that same daring and endurance which tookhimto California that still leads him on and on, through all the land and over all the seas; for [ have found him in every quarter of he globe. And wherever I have i'ound the Cali'ornian, I have found him a leader; not an obtrusive one, but a man who, when a man is needed, quietly steps forward, takes hold the he'm, and guides he ship to safety. Once on the Bhine, between the armes of France and Germany, I got into jreat trouble with the authorities. The military pólice, who were arresting everybodj' they could lay hands on, had ;ot me into their clutches and were tryng to read a whole lot of mixed-up manuscript which constituted the main art of my luggage; in order to flndout what soit of a man I was, for I could ïot talk a word of either French or Germán. I tmnk they must have been oorly educated, for they could hardly ead it. But they tried and tried with all their might. And the íarder they tried the madder they got; and they laid the blame all on to me. They were about to iron me and narch me off for a spy, when an Amercan stepped up and laid down the law n a way that made them open their eyes. lie was a Californian, and my rouble was over. lie could not talk a word to them - no more than I; but liey soon saw that although he could íot talk in any of their six or seven ongues, he could it least fight in any anguage under the sun. I am reminded here of two Californians, who, short of money and determined to see the Holy Land, went with ]ook, the tourist. They were the horor of all the staid oíd orthodox parties, )ut in less than a week they were the eaders of the party. They wanted to pump out Jacob's Veil, and get down to the bed rock. They were perfectly certain that it was only a prospect hole. And when they ame to Mount Sinai they found quartz ndications, and declared that all that ide of the mountain from which the ;ab]es for the Ten Commandments were upposed to have been taken woüld pay en per cent. They pretended to fmd ilenty of gold in the rock one morning, md made the whole party believe that hey intunded to set up a forty-stamp nill, and have it thundering down the same canon Moses is supposed to have leseended with the Laws. There are many of the wandeling chíldren of the dear oíd Pacific coast in irt, and at work, all over the world. I tave known as many as Uve ol' the eight or ten theatres in the city of Xew York to have eitlier California actors or California plays on their boards all at the same time. And in the army and navy ! Consider the deeds of the old Californians there. When one speaks of California, her northern sister, Üregon, is of course included. But perhaps it is in the liuancial world that the oM Californian takes the first rank. Yon elevated railroad, that itretclies down tlie streets of New York, was built and is owned by an ex -Mayor of San Francisco. Down ronder, at the end of theisland of Manhattan, where the "bujls" and "bears" guide the finance of the world, there is one little Californian who stands next to the head of the class. And if ever Jay Gould miases a word, thlsmanwill spell it, and turn him down and take ns place. Tyo little faets let me mention. More than flfty veáis ago the yery 3i'ightest of all the young men pf: the city of New York marriei! the (iaugh;er of one of the wealthiest and most distinguished of her great merchants. Fifty yearsbringchanges. ïhis bright young man was no longer a banier. He was poor, and all his idols lay broken and behind him. 11e was stil] a gentleman. Kut, says the Spanianl, 'WIki is there so poor as a poor gentleman ï' Well, $50,000 veru handed this good and worthy old gentleman, bythis old Califovnian, who is not willing to evpr let his own naine le piiblished in eonnection with the gilt. The other circninstHuoe is of less import to any one but myself. A nouand miskilled dealer in stocks, and utter stranger found himself one morning routad, "horse, foot and dragoims." Hall' desperate he rushed down to the old Californian and asked his advic Advice? He gave his advice to the strantrer in the shape of 300 shares of Western Union, These shares in a few days turned out a profit of nearly $3000. And still he will not permit his name to be mentioned in this connection. Very well; I will not give you the name of this "old Californian." "Neither will I give you that of the venerable banker who received tlie $50,000. But I see do reason why you may not have the name of the embarrassed speculator who received the $3000 worth of "advice." You will flnd it subscribed at the end of this rambling sketch. The foundations of nearly all the great iortunes of the far West have been almost purely accidental. After that it beeame merely a question of holding on to all you could get. Of course, many threw away their opportunities there. But remember that many others gave away all they had to help others, and are now gray and forgotten in the mountains, while they might have been to-day at the liead of their fellows in the city. I implore you, do not too much admire the ricli men of this land, where wealth may be had by any man, who is mean enougíi to clutch anti hold on tight to it. I teil you, that in nine cases out of ten, great aequired wealth lifts up in monumental testirnony the meanness of its possessor. I knew two neighbors, old Californians, who had about equal fortunes. They were both old settlers, both rich and both much respected. In that ïearful year, 1852, when the dying and destitute immigrants literally crawled on hands and knees over the Sierra, trying to reach the settlements, one of these men drove all his cattle up the mountains, butchered them, and fed the starving. He had his Mexicans pack all the miifles with flour, whicli at that time cost almost its weight in gold, and push on night and day over the mountains to meet the strangers tu ere and f eed them, so that they might have strength to reach his house, where they could have shelter and rest. The other man, cold and cautious, saw his opportunity and embraced it. He sat at home and sold all his wheat and nuiles and meat, and with the vast opportunities for turning money to account in that new country soon became almost a prince in fortune. But his geaerous neighbordied abeggar in Idaho, where he had gone to try to make another fortune. He literally had not money enough to buy a shroud; andas he died among strangers, by the roadside, he was buried without even so niuch ;is a pine board cofiïn, I saw his grave there only last year. Some one had sent up a rough granite stone at the head. And that is all. JSTo name - not even a letter or a date. Nothing. But that boulder was fashioned by the hand of Almighty God, and n the little seams and dots and mossy scars that cover it he can read the rumc that chronicles the secret virtues of ;his lone dead man on the snowy mountains of Idaho. The children of the 'Prince' are in Paris. Upheld byhis colossal wealth, their lives seem to embrace the universal world. He is my friend. He buys all my books, and reads every liiyj I write. When he comes to this sketch ie will understand it. And he ought to understand, too, that all the respect, admiration and love, which the new land once gave these two men, gather around and is buried beneath that mossgrown granite stone; and that I know, ven with all his show of splendor, ;hat his heart is as cold and as emrjtv as that dead man's hand.-