“Yis, indade,” said Mike, “but ther great majority of yez niver larned the manin’ of ther tarm economy at all, at all. But ’twas not ther nature of ther business of minin’ entoirly that taught yez to spind yez money so fraely thin; but, be gorra, ’twas natural to ther most ov yez, an’ indade, thin, ’twas this fault that made yez ther Forty-niners, an’, be jabers, it saims to stick right by ther most of yez.”
“That reminds,” said Jeff, “of a remark I heard a Dutchman make once who kept a store up on Bear River in ’56. Says he, ‘I could always shust knows dem ’49 vellers ven dey was come into mine store, mit mine eyes all shut up.’ ‘I asked him why.’ ‘Vei, den, ven one of dose vellers comes in to buy sometings, he says, Old vellers, have you got some of dot stuff dot vas pooty goot? I says I was. Vell, den, he says, you shust fills up mine jug; So I fills up dot jug, and he pays me, und den he goes right away pooty soon.
“Vel, den, pooty quick some dose other vellers, he comes in mine store, und he says, “Jacob, has you got some dem tings?” ‘I speaks to him I vas. Vell, den, he dells me how I sells dem, and I speaks to him how mooch.’ “Vell,” he say, “couldn’t you sell dose a leetle more cheaper as dot.” ‘I speak to him no. Vell, den, he tells me shust to gives him drei pints, and put em in mit vour of dose bottles. Vell den he shust goes mit de corner round, and dakes up one of dem bottles under his nose, und pooty soon he speaks, “Jacob, von’t you shust fill up dot bottles vot leaked out?” ‘So I puts ’em in a leetle more, und den he pays me dem monies, und he goes right away mit dem bottles. Und dot vas vy I does, ain’t it?”
At this point in the conversation in regard to the present poverty of many of the old-timers, Jeff remarked.
“Well, Mike, ’tis true enough that the most of us old prospectors have failed in our expectations of making another raise at mining, or at any rate in being able to save what we have made in the past; yet ’tis some consolation for us to know that there was a time once when we were able to make a big splurge in the big city below when we made them a visit with our pockets filled with dust, and give the chaps down there to understand that we knew where there was a plenty more of the same sort of stuff when that was gone.”
“But divil a bit, thin,” retorted Mike, “is ther thought ov thim days ov plinty an big diggins any consolation to yez at all, at all, in yez ould age. Indade, thin, ther thoughts ov sich prosperity in ther past only makes our prisint poverty saim ther greater by the contrast, thin. For, begorra, ther ain’t a divil a one ov us but who’d be moity willin’ now in our ould age to swap off all ov thim years that we was afther splurgin down in thim cities below with our pockets filled with dust. Yis, indade, we wud swap all ov thim, an’ we wuldn’t be afther askin’ any boot aither, for just a few short years ov rest an’ quiet now in our ould age, fray from want an’ care, without bein’ obliged to be containualy thrampin’ about all over ther counthry tryin’ to make a dacent living.”
Tennessee remarked: “Well, Mike, after all the great uncertainty in the business of mining, yet there is a fascination about it that many of us cannot resist, for there is a continual expectation that we will soon strike the right spot.”
“Yis, indade, there is that same, thin, an’, be jabers, I was afther thinkin’ meself, in early days, that moinin’ was jist ther finest an’ the most facinatin’ business in ther wuorld; for do yez moind, thin, it made no difference how much we was afther makin’ on our claim. Whither ’twas one ounce or tin ov thim, we was always afther ixpictin’ that ther nixt day ’twud be double, do yez see. ’Twas these containual ixpictations, do yez moind, that made ther business so facinatin’, begorra! Whin at wurruk in ther ravine we was ivery day ixpictin’, do yez moind, that soon we wud be afther jist shovelin’ ther gould up by ther bucket full, as they did over in Georgetown gulch. An’ thin, again, we wud soon be after ixpictin’ to find a rich crivise, when we could take out ther gould by ther ton, as they did over in Alder gulch, Montanna, be jabers. Thin, agin, we was always jist ixpictin’ in our tunnel to sthrike a spot ov blue gravel, whin we wud take out ther gould by ther car load, as ther b’ys did from Forest Hill. Faith, thin, me b’ys, ’twas these containual ixpictations in early days that made ther business of minin’ so facinatin’, but thin ther containual disappintments that many ov us met with destroys in toime ther facination av their business, an’ we are contint to thry to make a livin’ in some other manner an’ let thim b’ys who havn’t lost ther faith in ther business still continue it, in ther hope that some day yez’ll be afther sthrikin ther right spot, where yez’ll foind a fortune ready waitin’ for yez.”
Some one asked Mike what had become of his old partner, Pat Kennedy, whom he worked with on French Flat in ’54. Mike answered that Pat got hurt in a shaft up in Placer County in ’56, and died soon after. He stated that Pat and Uncle Tim Winn were at work sinking a shaft and that Tim let the bucket slip out of his hands, and down it went upon the top of Pat’s head.
“I had a talk with Uncle Tim about it,” said Mike, “an’ Tim says to me: ‘An’, indade, Mike, I was jist afther hookin’ on the tub to sind it down to Pat, an’ it slipped out ov me hands an’ down it wint, an’ I took a glance down the shaft thin, ixpictin’ to see Pat somewhere in the last stage ov a rapid decline, do yez moind, but divil a bit was he decloinin’ at all, for he was standin’ upon his fate an’ reclinin’ against the side ov the shaft. Says I: “Is it much harumed that yez are, Pat?” “Divil a bit am I at all, but me brains are all knocked out intoirly, and ’tis spaichless, too, that I am, Tim.”’”