Rensselaer Republican, Volume 24, Number 1, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 September 1891 — THE MARTYR OF PRODIGAL MINE. [ARTICLE]

THE MARTYR OF PRODIGAL MINE.

I don't wish ter be understood ss ter expressing say opinion ter publication as ter who is right end Who is wrong in this er war, but I kin affirm without fearof contradiction, that it ain't no sixty-day, hor a oneyear Job, Sabe!” The speaker paused for the afore-mentioned “contradiction.” “I might add without fear of contradiction,” he ooatinued, that if Abe Lincoln trusts sich men as Grant, Sherman and Butler, and overlooks Fremont and my old comrades of the Mexican War, he kin prepare tooarry this fight on until Gabriel blows his horn.” After the delivery of this weighty prophesy, the Colonel reached for a match, lighted it and his well-colored meerschaum, and sent forth a cloud of smoke that wrapped the five occupants of the rough board shanty in semi-obscurity. The speaker, as ne affirmed, expected no contradiction. 'None was proffered The “Cripple” proceeded to drowsily place the greasy euchre deck on the bottom of an empty cracker barrel for a •‘solitaire.” Sam White, the only man in camp who went by his true name, continued to wind with the wire taken from an old broom, a strained shovel handle. The “Count” and the “Prodigal,” for widely dissimilar reasons, wore stretched at full length on opposite bunks, presumably listening to the Colonel's mendacious criticism of the way the war was being conducted, and the American Government in general administered. Of the two last mimed occupants of the cabin, the Proligal was-seemingly the best listener. Ho never grew restless. He maintained the most respectful silence during the longest harangue, calmly gazing at . tho speaker with wide-open dreamy eyes. He seldom interrupted, but if perchance he did, it was with some remark that was so foreign to the subject matter in band, that it fairly took the speaker's breath away. The Colonel feared the interruptions, and was oomo-iuently olways more or less hurried in his arguments. The Prodigal did not mean to be discourteous, but his thoughts were far away. He was home sick, and had been so since the day he struck California, five.years before, in ’56. Unlike his companions, ho hal a home to bo sick for. Not only did he have a home, but what appealed more powerfully to the hearts of the miners, he had a “gaL” A girl that ho wrote to and who answered his letter, which letter about made up ,the epistolary matter of the office at SnaKe Fork. The Prodigal, like every gold-hunt-er in those balmy days, had expected to become rich in a few months. Many a time had he planned how be would return homo with his wealth and placate the scruples of his sweetheart’s parents with rich gifts and a large bank account. But fortune had proven a fickle goddess. Ho had worked early and late, gone through all the ups and downs of a miner's nomadic life. Luck bad not been with him. At home on the old farm he had been taught that there was no such thing as luck, but he bad since learned by bitter experience that truisms are local, not general, and that luck was the real molten image before Which tho miner sacrificed his burnt offerings. Perhaps it was because of his neglect to tho California god that he ut no time since his advent, had been possessed of ‘ more than enough to barely pay his , passago back to Vermont. It was the oftimo repeated story of his leaving home to go in search of a fortuno in strange lands, and of the anxious parents' aweiting his return, that hud suggested to the Cripple the name of tho Prodigal for tho quondam farm boy. The othor members of the camp did not understand this appellation until the Cripple, who was a Methodist minister's son, repeated to-thara tho Lord's sad parabio of tho prodigal son, which jftdial so deeply impressed them that the Prodigal, invested m the new title, in somo measure took upon himself the personality of the original, and was ever after considered an object, of pity. Though the Colonel often said to tho Count as ho would look up from his work and see the Prodigal seated on a rock, his eyes filled with a far away look: “If that ’er boy only know what his dad had awaiting for him ’. Think o’ nt, Count, a whole fattened beef,” The story, by frequent repetition, got so twisted t hat in the eyes of the miners he became the real prodigal, and his stor.v was often told at the grocery ou Suako Fork as a veritable fact. “Why, sir,” Sq. Doolittle, postmaster and morchaut, would say, raising on his toes in his earnestness; “why, sir, this yore same Prodigal, actor whom the mine on Bellevue Fork war named, had ter live with the nogs and eht cactus. Right in this free country. Fact, sir.” The Prodigal tooa all of these stories seriously, and began to believe them himself. At least he never took the trouble to dispute them. Only at times, when the boys were puncturing him with ouestions as to his past life, hq would wander away from the camn aud up the gradually sloping Little Mountain, to a great bowlder, whoso im mensity made it a marked object for miles around. Here they would find him, seated urder its shade, his eyes turned away down the valley of t&o Sacramento. Here be would ait for hours, oblivious to all else save his own thoughts. The squirrels learned that they had nothing to fear from the intruder, and whould whisk merrily past, bearing nuts to their winter cache. Two brilliant humming-birds flew close to his head in quest of the sweets of the sy rings that grew In the crevice of tho rocks. In the sky above piping flame-polored orioles circled undisturbed by the drooping figure below. Tho breeze that cooled his heated face was laden with the aroma of the flowers in the gulch beneath. All nature seemed to extend a soothing hand. The Cripple once asked him what he was doing up there all alone, aud he answered so innocently that it stopped the jeer on his lips: “Talking with Anniei" So ever after when he was missing the boys would say: “Off talking with Annie.” The rough natures of the miners respected this sentiment, and Annie became the tutelary Goddess of the camp Whenever they would speculate in the illusions of hope: however they might differ as to tho best methods of .disbursing their expected wealth, they agreed perfectly on one score, namely: to give to she Prodigal sad Annie arousing wedding. “We kin do it Jest as wellas not,” the Colonel said one Sunday afternoon, as ho stood carefully propped up against a bowlder, contemplating with wide-open, dreaming eyes a pool of tobacco Juice a tew feet in front of him. “What’s a few thousand more nor less,” he went on with a magnificent wave of his badly soiled hand, “when that ’ere placer is reeking with dust!” W hereupon, with a sigh and a parting salvo of juke squirted with mathematical accuracy Into the placid depths of the pcol, he picked up his pick, cast a benevolent glance on the .unconscious object cf bis remarks and resumed the -motions which out of politeness were denominated work. The Prodigal Mine was about played out

not worked out, for it was still rich in; p sibilities. The present proprietor had taken it up two years before. They “had never made out of it anything but Chinamen’s wages,” as the Colonel often sneeringly remarked. They would have abandoned the mine long before but sacrificing their pride. Their last claim, two miles down the run, | bad been sold for a song to a company of “tenderfeet,” and greatly to their astonishment bad panned out big. So the proprietor* of the Prodigal had stuck, out of “sheer cussedness.” In two years they had gone through all the epochs of a miner’s life. By days they had been millionaires—hopeful; had seen the bottom of theirpockets and the bottom of the pork-barrel; had lost heart, and hail put in a farwell blast more than a dozen times. For the last two days they had done nothing. The Colonel was on a strike. Even Jim White, the controling spirit of the camp, could not keep him at work. Tho Count, who originally had been styled “Noronnt,’’ cut down for every day use, to Count, did not have the nerve to join boldly in a strike, but instead complained of a lame leg, which he kept carefully wrapt in a canvas shot-bag, and which lameness he accented by a spasmodic limp whenever the thought* occurred to Mm. As work ceased the Prodigal became uneasy. He would spend hours up on Little Mountain, or wander aimlessly about the sluciceS. He could not entertain the thought of breaking camp. V bile he never asserted himself, or even took part in the discussions, tho pleading look in his babyish blue eyes told only too plainly what his feeiings were. On this particular afternoon it was rain ing—a cold, drizzling rain. For that reason the Colonel had listeners, even if they were unwilling ones, to his mendacious war stories. The rigors of winter were giving place to a greenness of verdure that in any other country would herald spring, llut in California it stood for no such happy denouement. —The monlli of January had given place to February. The snow under the spell of tho midday sun had slipped away down the many canyons, and had left behind the harsh, abraded lines of a landscape that was as yet barely covered by the tender grass. The misty glimpse of this picture through the dirty 2x3 window, the chilling dampness of the weather, the lowness of the larder, all conspired to depress the spirits of the five. Even Jim White found himself acquiescing in the clamorous wishes of the Count aud Colonel. Tho Cripple said he didn’t caro a ——, and went on with his game. The Prodigal alone stood uncommitted by speech. The mine had been named in his honor, and was the basis of all his hopes. Around it wore gathered tho brightest dreams of his life. For two long years he had worked unceasingly. With every “clean-up” he had expected that the next would send him home to Annie. His faith had never lagged. His silent determination had kept up the spirits of the others. Life was a serious matter with him; he never laughed; he seldom smiled, and paradoxical as it may scorn ho never blasphemed, but on one occasion, and that was one afternoon when the Countcame running and shouting into the shanty with a panfull of black sand and iron pyrites, the Prodigal took one look at tho shining specks, jumped into the air, knocked both feet together and screamed: “Married, by God!” although iho Colonel afterward remarked, in discussing the matter with Jim White, that it sounded more like a prayer than an oath. So on account of his paramount interest tho final decision as to breaking up was left to him. The Colonel ceased his monologue, and turned to tho Prodigal, “Shall we vamose the ranch, old man!” The Cripple threw up his cards with a disgusted air. Jim White let the shovel slide from his kneea. All eyes were turned uipon the Prodigal. Ho glanced uneasily from one to another, blushed, picked up his hat and left the camp. “Gone to talk with Anuie,” said the Colonel, with a shrug of his shoulders, and all lapsed into a despondent silence. Two houro passed. The Count with a bndly affected limp, put over the coffee-pot, with the remark, “That’s tho last ot it.” Jim White went to the door and looked out. “Raining yet-; some one ought to look up the Prodigal.” Another hour passed. The Cripple knocked the ashes from his pipe, toot his hat and started across tho cheerless gulch and up the mountain. When the Prodigal left the cabin, his life seemed to have gone out from him. The talk of throwing up tho claim ou the one hand had benumed him; enfeebled him. On the other, it had awakened him from a dream thak had lasted uninterrupted lor two years. ■ Never for a moment had he doubted of ultimate success. Not a partial success, but one grand and overwhelming—ono that would give him Annie and home. As he ascended the mountains side, perhaps, for the last time, his thoughts became incoherent, flighty. They went back to Vermont. He knew it was winter thero with all its rig Or. Ho knew tho snow lay deep on the rugged hills and narrow valleys of his New England state. He could see tne low, old farm house, the ram-shackle barns, the straw stack, tho crumbling fences, all alike, made beautiful by their mantle of white. Ho pictured his father, his younger brothers and sisters happy around tho glowing arch-fire. A little later he know he would bo remembered in their evening prayers. Then he thought of Annie; of their childhood days of unalloyed companionship end innocent love. Her sweet girlisksfiguro; her timid delicate face; her great confiding blue eyes; her pure generous love, all passed before bis half-crazed vision. Ho pressed his clamv hands to his feverish brow, and a half articulated senteuce escaped him: “My God, ami going crazy!” Gradually from the chaotic mass of his thoughts and hopes came a full realization of the problem before him. With a loving, almost caressing glance, he gazed about him—on the ragged seams of the gulch beneath, filled with its wild sonorous, music—on the freshly born foliage, drooping under its burdens of moisture—on the little cabin far below, just visible in the last shimering rays of the sun—up at snow-crowned serrated folds of the Nevada’s, ahd then he looked above him for the great moss-covered bowlder, under whose shade he had spent so many hours communing with his loved ones. His eye sought the familiar spot, but found no bowlder. He looked farther up. It was gone. But where! He took a step. He paused. A gaping chasm was at his feet He dropped on his knees, regardless of the pools of water that had collected in the fissures of the rocks. Far below he could distinguish a vast mass of debris. He realized what had happened. The bowlder stood but a few rods back', and above the canyon in whoso bed they had been vainly washing for gold. The sapping action of winter’s rains ana its own great weight hadloosened the gravelly slope. Causing a landslide, completely obliterating all traces of their feeble efforts in the river below. Unbidden, a groan came to his lips, and the word ‘-busted.” He fell flat upon Ms body, Ma head

banging over the precipice. An hour passed. The rain beat down dffi him unnoticed. It helped to still the heightened beating oi bis temples. Consciousness slowly returned. His eyes opened. Gleams of light seemed to flash before them. Bright starshaped points claimed their attention. A vein of yellowish-dirt ran along the clean surface of the bed rock. He put out his hand and picked up a pebble that shone yellow in the fading light. It was a nugget of virgin gold. With it tightly clasped S 5 his hardened palm hand he The knowledge that the great end wished for was attained; that after having allowed all his hopes to collapse he had'reached the goal of his ambitions, and that all things were now possible was too much for his weakened intellect.

Thus tho Crippls found him two hours later. The Cripple, whose title was one of those fictitious misuomers indulged in in California at that time, took the poor wasted form on his broad shoulders and bore him to the camp. All thoughts of breaking up were at once forgotten. Willing bands stripped tho clothing from him. ; The Colonel, in endeavoring to take off the right arm of bis shirt, discovered the nugget He gave one look and ran shouting and jumping about the cabin: “Gold, boys, gold. The Prodigal has struck it. Didn’t I alius say he was a lucky cuss! I never gave up for one moment. Didn’t I say I felt it in my bones ali along! Hurrah!” This exhibition of mendacity passed unchallenged. The nugget was certainly gold. The Cripple explained where he had found tho Prodigal. A hurried explanation showed that tho main bar had been washed out and loosened the great bowlder above the guli h, which in its descent had smashed the rim rock and exposed the glistening gold in tiio old - river bed seventy feet abovo where they had been tunnelling. The excitement of that night was intense. With visions of untold wealth on one hand, and the Prodigal at death’s door on the other, the men spent a night that wa9 remembered to tho longest day they lived. Just at daybreak Jim White awoke the Count with a kick and sent him off to tho Snake’s Ford for a doctor. The Prodigal remained unconscious. There was not a particle of color in his face, and it took the united offorts of the three to keep him warm. Then he went into a delirious fever; he reared and fought with the desperation of a maniac, By the time the-doctor arrived the Colonel dropped on the bed completely exhausted. For two weeks the Prodigal recognized no one. A Chinese nurse was imported. The young physician staid by him night and day. The first day of tho sickness Jim White took him one side and said in a voice husky with emotion: “Doc, you stand by us Bring the lad around and your fortune is made. Why, he can’t die. Damn it, man he is rich, and has got to go home and mar-, ry Annie.” The Prodigal Mine was a success New placers were discovered along tho entire length of the gulch. In a few weeks the whole place was transformed. A town sprang up. Miners flocked to the gulch. Claim stakes could be seen at every available point. A gambling hall was opened. A half dozen burs wero.sojn in full blast. License ran riot. Law was unknown. Only one restriction was imposed on the ungovernable spirits of Prodigal. This, tho ono law on tho unwritten statutes of the town, was set forth by Jim White in a speech before the “Little Innocent Saloon.” “In conclusion, gentlemen, ,r he said, “let me add, the man after who m this claim is named, and who discovered the placer that has made this town what it is, lies at the point of death in yonder shanty.” The speaker's voice trembled. “He may never get well, but whilo ho lives he is going to have the best these ere diggings can give. Around that, shanty..! want absolute silence, and the man that don’t rake off his cap when he passes that ere door, his got to light Jim White.” A rousing cheer wound up the speech, and all went to drink the health Of tho Prodigal. The rude chivalry of the town exhausted Itself in its attention on the Prodigal. Rough miners vied with one another in sitting up with him, and the shanty was transformed into a bit of tho tropics by the abundance of flowers brought in every morning by even tho roughest frequenter of “The Little Innocent.” Yet skill and nursing'hadno effect. The spark of life had been gradually dimmed by-fire years of toil, hardships and brooding. He lingered two months. Ono morning just as the first sounds of life were heard in the new town, tho Prodigal awoko from his long sleep. A look of intelligence came into his big -blue eyes, as they'restcd on the great manly faro of 'the Cripple. The young doctor placed his finger on his lips to enjoin silence, but the sick man heeded it not. Ho put out his thin emaciated hand and grasped tlfco strong palm of his wat 'her. “Old man, I have been sick.” The Oripple nodded. “I havo not long to live.” A sob escaped the lips of tho Cripple. “Don’t feel 90, old man; was tho claim a success!” He continued going back to the day he became unconscious. The Cripple nodded again, and placed his linger on his lips. A smilo lit up the sufferer s mouth. “We are rick then; thank God. Cripple give mo cyour hand again. IVhen I die, bury mo hero on top of Little Mountain where I can look down into the valley of The Sacramento and talk —with—A-n-n-i-e.” He paused from sheer exhaustion. The doctor gave him a strengthening cordial. “Write A-n-n-i e, Cripple, and tell her I died with her name on my lips. Where-are-tho-boys!” The Colonel, Jim White, the Count, and a number of the new miuers stood by bis siefe. “Good-by, boys; you have Been arid, to mo. Don’t forget tho P-r-o d-i g-a-1.” A sm'u., passed over his face; the first rays of the morning sun shown aslaui over the barren tops of JLutllo Mountain, aud bathed the faco of the dying man in a rich warm color. For an instant, it seemed to bring a new lease of life—then the strugglo was over. His gentle spirit had spanned the mountaius, desserts and valleys and was back amoug the green Hills of his home—back with Annie. A month later a letter was received in a little Vermont hamlet, bearing the postmark of an outlandish California mining town. With trembling fingers is was opened by a gray-haired old man. It ran as follows: Prodigal, Cal., April 12, 186& Mi:. John Peakck. Dsau Friend:— Your son died April the tenth. We buried him hore as he wished. He had the biggest funeral ever held in this town and was buried by a regular Elder. His last words were: “Tell Anno I Uiod with her name on my lips.” Enclosed, find draft on Miners’ Bank, of Sacramento, for $40,000, to be divided between you and Annie. Ted Annie we ad love' her. and have n imed a new mine after her. If there is anything more we can ao, wo are your humole servants. Yours in sorrow, We Bparuo.iv, “The Cripplo.” ‘ Jnt WniTE, Cot. IcnABOD Ames, Henry LoNo..“The Count" Proprietors of the Prodigal Mine. w-Rounsevido Wildinan in Idaho Statesman.