The
"flush times"
held
bravely
on.
Something
over
two
years
before, Mr. Goodman
and
another
journeyman
printer, had
borrowed
forty
dollars
and
set
out
from
San Francisco
to
try
their
fortunes
in
the
new
city
of
Virginia.
They
found
the
Territorial
Enterprise, a poverty-stricken weekly journal,
gasping
for
breath
and
likely
to
die.
They
bought it, type, fixtures, good-will
and
all,
for
a
thousand
dollars,
on
long
time.
The
editorial
sanctum, news-room, press-room,
publication
office, bed- chamber, parlor,
and
kitchen
were
all
compressed
into
one
apartment
and
it
was
a small one, too.
The
editors
and
printers slept
on
the
floor, a Chinaman
did
their
cooking,
and
the
"imposing-stone"
was
the
general
dinner
table.
But
now
things
were
changed.
The
paper
was
a
great
daily,
printed
by
steam;
there
were
five
editors
and
twenty-three compositors;
the
subscription
price
was
sixteen
dollars
a year;
the
advertising
rates
were
exorbitant,
and
the
columns
crowded.
The
paper
was
clearing
from
six
to
ten
thousand
dollars
a month,
and
the
"Enterprise Building"
was
finished
and
ready
for
occupation—a stately fireproof brick.
Every
day
from
five
all
the
way
up
to
eleven
columns
of
"live"
advertisements
were
left
out
or
crowded
into
spasmodic
and
irregular "supplements."
The
"Gould & Curry"
company
were
erecting
a
monster
hundred-stamp mill
at
a
cost
that
ultimately
fell
little
short
of
a
million
dollars. Gould &
Curry
stock paid heavy dividends—a
rare
thing,
and
an
experience
confined
to
the
dozen
or
fifteen
claims
located
on
the
"main lead,"
the
"Comstock."
The
Superintendent
of
the
Gould &
Curry
lived,
rent
free,
in
a
fine
house
built
and
furnished
by
the
company.
He
drove
a
fine
pair
of
horses
which
were
a
present
from
the
company,
and
his
salary
was
twelve
thousand
dollars
a year.
The
superintendent
of
another
of
the
great
mines
traveled
in
grand
state, had a salary
of
twenty-eight
thousand
dollars
a year,
and
in
a
law
suit
in
after
days
claimed
that
he
was
to
have
had
one
per
cent.
on
the
gross
yield
of
the
bullion
likewise.
Money
was
wonderfully
plenty.
The
trouble
was,
not
how
to
get
it,—but
how
to
spend
it,
how
to
lavish it,
get
rid
of
it, squander it.
And
so
it
was
a
happy
thing
that
just
at
this
juncture
the
news
came
over
the
wires
that
a
great
United
States
Sanitary
Commission had been
formed
and
money
was
wanted
for
the
relief
of
the
wounded
sailors
and
soldiers
of
the
Union
languishing
in
the
Eastern
hospitals.
Right
on
the
heels
of
it
came
word
that
San Francisco had
responded
superbly
before
the
telegram
was
half
a
day
old.
Virginia
rose
as
one
man! A
Sanitary
Committee
was
hurriedly organized,
and
its
chairman mounted a
vacant
cart
in
C
street
and
tried
to
make
the
clamorous
multitude
understand
that
the
rest
of
the
committee
were
flying
hither
and
thither
and
working
with
all
their
might
and
main,
and
that
if
the
town
would
only
wait
an
hour,
an
office
would
be
ready,
books
opened,
and
the
Commission
prepared
to
receive
contributions.
His
voice
was
drowned
and
his
information
lost
in
a ceaseless
roar
of
cheers,
and
demands
that
the
money
be
received now—they swore
they
would
not
wait.
The
chairman
pleaded
and
argued, but,
deaf
to
all
entreaty, men
plowed
their
way
through
the
throng
and
rained
checks
of
gold
coin
into
the
cart
and
skurried
away
for
more.
Hands
clutching money,
were
thrust
aloft
out
of
the
jam
by
men
who
hoped
this
eloquent
appeal
would
cleave
a
road
their
strugglings
could
not
open.
The
very
Chinamen
and
Indians
caught
the
excitement
and
dashed
their
half
dollars
into
the
cart
without
knowing
or
caring
what
it
was
all
about. Women plunged
into
the
crowd,
trimly
attired,
fought
their
way
to
the
cart
with
their
coin,
and
emerged
again,
by
and
by,
with
their
apparel
in
a
state
of
hopeless dilapidation.
It
was
the
wildest mob
Virginia
had
ever
seen
and
the
most
determined
and
ungovernable;
and
when
at
last
it
abated
its
fury
and
dispersed,
it
had
not
a
penny
in
its
pocket.
To
use
its
own
phraseology,
it
came
there
"flush"
and
went
away
"busted."
After
that,
the
Commission got
itself
into
systematic
working order,
and
for
weeks
the
contributions
flowed
into
its
treasury
in
a
generous
stream.
Individuals
and
all
sorts
of
organizations
levied
upon
themselves
a regular weekly
tax
for
the
sanitary
fund,
graduated
according
to
their
means,
and
there
was
not
another
grand
universal
outburst
till
the
famous
"Sanitary Flour Sack" came
our
way.
Its
history
is
peculiar
and
interesting. A
former
schoolmate
of
mine,
by
the
name
of
Reuel Gridley,
was
living
at
the
little
city
of
Austin,
in
the
Reese
river
country,
at
this
time,
and
was
the
Democratic
candidate
for
mayor.
He
and
the
Republican
candidate
made
an
agreement
that
the
defeated
man
should
be
publicly
presented
with
a fifty-pound sack
of
flour
by
the
successful one,
and
should
carry
it
home
on
his
shoulder. Gridley
was
defeated.
The
new
mayor
gave
him
the
sack
of
flour,
and
he
shouldered
it
and
carried
it
a
mile
or
two,
from
Lower
Austin
to
his
home
in
Upper
Austin,
attended
by
a
band
of
music
and
the
whole
population.
Arrived
there,
he
said
he
did
not
need
the
flour,
and
asked
what
the
people
thought
he
had
better
do
with
it. A voice said: "Sell
it
to
the
highest
bidder,
for
the
benefit
of
the
Sanitary
fund."
The
suggestion
was
greeted
with
a round
of
applause,
and
Gridley mounted a dry-goods
box
and
assumed
the
role
of
auctioneer.
The
bids
went
higher
and
higher,
as
the
sympathies
of
the
pioneers
awoke
and
expanded,
till
at
last
the
sack
was
knocked
down
to
a mill
man
at
two
hundred
and
fifty
dollars,
and
his
check taken.
He
was
asked
where
he
would
have
the
flour delivered,
and
he
said: "Nowhere—sell
it
again."
Now
the
cheers went
up
royally,
and
the
multitude
were
fairly
in
the
spirit
of
the
thing.
So
Gridley stood
there
and
shouted
and
perspired
till
the
sun
went down;
and
when
the
crowd
dispersed
he
had
sold
the
sack
to
three
hundred
different
people,
and
had taken
in
eight
thousand
dollars
in
gold.
And
still
the
flour sack
was
in
his
possession.
The
news
came
to
Virginia,
and
a
telegram
went back: "Fetch
along
your
flour sack!" Thirty-six
hours
afterward
Gridley arrived,
and
an
afternoon
mass
meeting
was
held
in
the
Opera
House,
and
the
auction
began.
But
the
sack had
come
sooner
than
it
was
expected;
the
people
were
not
thoroughly
aroused,
and
the
sale
dragged.
At
nightfall
only
five
thousand
dollars
had been secured,
and
there
was
a crestfallen feeling
in
the
community. However,
there
was
no
disposition
to
let
the
matter
rest
here
and
acknowledge
vanquishment
at
the
hands
of
the
village
of
Austin.
Till
late
in
the
night
the
principal
citizens
were
at
work
arranging
the
morrow's campaign,
and
when
they
went
to
bed
they
had
no
fears
for
the
result.
At
eleven
the
next
morning
a
procession
of
open
carriages,
attended
by
clamorous
bands
of
music
and
adorned
with
a
moving
display
of
flags,
filed
along
C
street
and
was
soon
in
danger
of
blockade
by
a huzzaing
multitude
of
citizens.
In
the
first
carriage
sat Gridley,
with
the
flour sack
in
prominent
view,
the
latter
splendid
with
bright
paint
and
gilt
lettering;
also
in
the
same
carriage
sat
the
mayor
and
the
recorder.
The
other
carriages
contained
the
Common
Council,
the
editors
and
reporters,
and
other
people
of
imposing consequence.
The
crowd
pressed
to
the
corner
of
C
and
Taylor streets,
expecting
the
sale
to
begin
there,
but
they
were
disappointed,
and
also
unspeakably surprised;
for
the
cavalcade
moved
on
as
if
Virginia
had
ceased
to
be
of
importance,
and
took
its
way
over
the
"divide,"
toward
the
small
town
of
Gold
Hill.
Telegrams
had gone ahead
to
Gold
Hill,
Silver
City
and
Dayton,
and
those
communities
were
at
fever
heat
and
rife
for
the
conflict.
It
was
a
very
hot
day,
and
wonderfully
dusty.
At
the
end
of
a
short
half
hour
we
descended
into
Gold
Hill
with
drums
beating
and
colors flying,
and
enveloped
in
imposing
clouds
of
dust.
The
whole
population—men, women
and
children, Chinamen
and
Indians,
were
massed
in
the
main
street,
all
the
flags
in
town
were
at
the
mast
head,
and
the
blare
of
the
bands
was
drowned
in
cheers. Gridley stood
up
and
asked
who
would
make
the
first
bid
for
the
National
Sanitary
Flour Sack. Gen. W. said: "The
Yellow
Jacket
silver
mining
company
offers
a
thousand
dollars, coin!" A
tempest
of
applause
followed. A
telegram
carried
the
news
to
Virginia,
and
fifteen
minutes
afterward
that
city's
population
was
massed
in
the
streets
devouring
the
tidings—for
it
was
part
of
the
programme
that
the
bulletin
boards
should
do
a
good
work
that
day.
Every
few
minutes
a
new
dispatch
was
bulletined
from
Gold
Hill,
and
still
the
excitement grew.
Telegrams
began
to
return
to
us
from
Virginia
beseeching Gridley
to
bring
back
the
flour sack;
but
such
was
not
the
plan
of
the
campaign.
At
the
end
of
an
hour
Gold
Hill's small
population
had paid a
figure
for
the
flour sack
that
awoke
all
the
enthusiasm
of
Virginia
when
the
grand
total
was
displayed
upon
the
bulletin
boards.
Then
the
Gridley
cavalcade
moved
on, a
giant
refreshed
with
new
lager
beer
and
plenty
of
it—for
the
people
brought
it
to
the
carriages
without
waiting
to
measure
it—and
within
three
hours
more
the
expedition
had carried
Silver
City
and
Dayton
by
storm
and
was
on
its
way
back
covered
with
glory.
Every
move
had been telegraphed
and
bulletined,
and
as
the
procession
entered
Virginia
and
filed
down
C
street
at
half
past
eight
in
the
evening
the
town
was
abroad
in
the
thoroughfares,
torches
were
glaring,
flags
flying,
bands
playing, cheer
on
cheer
cleaving
the
air,
and
the
city
ready
to
surrender
at
discretion.
The
auction
began,
every
bid
was
greeted
with
bursts
of
applause,
and
at
the
end
of
two
hours
and
a
half
a
population
of
fifteen
thousand
souls had paid
in
coin
for
a fifty-pound sack
of
flour a
sum
equal
to
forty
thousand
dollars
in
greenbacks!
It
was
at
a
rate
in
the
neighborhood
of
three
dollars
for
each
man,
woman
and
child
of
the
population.
The
grand
total
would
have
been
twice
as
large,
but
the
streets
were
very
narrow,
and
hundreds
who
wanted
to
bid
could
not
get
within
a
block
of
the
stand,
and
could
not
make
themselves
heard.
These
grew
tired
of
waiting
and
many
of
them
went
home
long
before
the
auction
was
over.
This
was
the
greatest
day
Virginia
ever
saw, perhaps. Gridley
sold
the
sack
in
Carson
city
and
several
California
towns;
also
in
San Francisco.
Then
he
took
it
east
and
sold
it
in
one
or
two
Atlantic
cities, I think. I
am
not
sure
of
that,
but
I
know
that
he
finally carried
it
to
St. Louis,
where
a
monster
Sanitary
Fair
was
being held,
and
after
selling
it
there
for
a
large
sum
and
helping
on
the
enthusiasm
by
displaying
the
portly
silver
bricks
which
Nevada's
donation
had produced,
he
had
the
flour
baked
up
into
small
cakes
and
retailed
them
at
high prices.
It
was
estimated
that
when
the
flour sack's
mission
was
ended
it
had been
sold
for
a
grand
total
of
a
hundred
and
fifty
thousand
dollars
in
greenbacks!
This
is
probably
the
only
instance
on
record
where
common
family
flour brought
three
thousand
dollars
a
pound
in
the
public market.
It
is
due
to
Mr. Gridley's
memory
to
mention
that
the
expenses
of
his
sanitary
flour sack
expedition
of
fifteen
thousand
miles, going
and
returning,
were
paid
in
large
part
if
not
entirely,
out
of
his
own
pocket.
The
time
he
gave
to
it
was
not
less
than
three
months. Mr. Gridley
was
a soldier
in
the
Mexican
war
and
a pioneer Californian.
He
died
at
Stockton, California,
in
December, 1870,
greatly
regretted.